


Call It Home

by magicofthepen



Series: What We Choose [2]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Getting Together, Multi, Narvin/Romana centric, awkward Time Lords get less awkward, navigating professional vs. personal relationships, this one is happy!, with established Leela/Romana and Leela/Narvin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29128548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicofthepen/pseuds/magicofthepen
Summary: The early days of Narvin and Romana's CIA partnership — and the uncertainty of what they're building together.
Relationships: Leela (Doctor Who)/Narvin (Doctor Who), Leela/Narvin/Romana II, Leela/Romana II, Narvin/Romana II
Series: What We Choose [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137368
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a sequel to [Defying Reason](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29128212/chapters/71507184), but can be read on its own. Also the headcanons about Narvin and Romana's previous Chancellor + President dynamic that are referenced in this chapter are drawn from my Series 5 fic [a constant satellite of your blazing sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28995969). 
> 
> Title from North by Sleeping At Last.

Narvin’s skimming a decidedly non-urgent intelligence brief when the message from Leela comes through. 

It’s already late in the evening, and it doesn’t take long to finish the brief and shut down his office systems for the day. It takes only a bit longer to check in on Romana to make sure something didn’t come up that he should know about — but her office is dark. That’s what he expected, given that Leela was supposed to be meeting her for dinner tonight. That doesn’t, however, explain why Leela’s now asking him to come to her flat.

Leela moved out of the presidential palace several months ago, after she was dismissed from her bodyguard position. But since Livia agreed to retain her as Academy liaison and advisor (a _junior_ advisor, another demotion from Romana’s presidency), she was entitled to housing in one of inner complexes in the Citadel. Her new flat is on the third floor of the building adjacent to the CIA housing block, and most people don’t pay much attention to her comings and goings, or the comings and goings of anyone else visiting the building. It also helps that the CIA housing block is rife with secret entrances and passages, including passages into other buildings.

The reasons for discretion are — complicated. He doesn’t care about idle gossip. Neither does Romana, and Leela certainly never did. But Leela’s enjoying what voice she has in the domestic issues she cares about, and public knowledge of her intimate relationships with the two senior most CIA officials would put her in a sticky position that might get her fired from Livia’s staff. Not to mention that he and Romana have any number of political enemies, and Leela has always faced too much hostility on this world as it is. Better to protect what personal and political independence she has, as best they can.

The hour of day means that not many eyes are around the relatively private lift in her corner of the building. Leela’s long given him the codes to her rooms, so he slips inside without a fuss and promptly freezes.

“Narvin!” Leela grins at him from her perch on Romana’s lap. “So you were capable of tearing yourself away from work after all.”

He makes an odd shuffling motion in the entryway. It’s a small consolation that Romana looks about as embarrassed as he feels, although she’s trying to mask it behind steely indifference and looking absolutely anywhere else in the room but at him. 

“Leela.” He swallows. “Romana. Did you — need something?”

“You did.” Leela hops off Romana and waves him over to the kitchen. Narvin follows with the wariness of someone who has already been ambushed once today and isn’t quite ready for any more surprises. But Leela simply nudges a bowl of soup in his direction with a raised eyebrow.

“It is probably still warm, but you might want to heat it.”

“I’m sorry?”

Leela raises her eyebrows. “Soup, Narvin.”

“Yes, I can see that. I just — ” He spares a quick sideways glance at Romana, who is sitting surprisingly quietly on the sofa, hands laced in her lap. “You said I needed something?”

“I believe the implication is that you need to _eat_ something, Narvin.” Romana’s crossed her legs, her tone hovering between dryly amused and apprehensive. “ _Have_ you eaten at all today?”

“Of _course_ I have.”

“More than a single nutrient bar?” Leela says, already moving to heat the soup.

This situation is rapidly spiraling out of control, and Narvin decides not to make it worse by spluttering in protest. He waits in silence as Leela reheats the soup and shoves a spoon in his hand, and in even stonier silence as he prods the broth and takes a swallow.

He doesn’t feel the need to cook much, but he can’t deny that the soup is good and warm and filling and all of those descriptors Leela would give. Well, he can’t deny it to himself, that is. He certainly doesn’t need to admit it to Leela, although the above average speed at which he keeps swallowing spoonfuls is probably evidence enough.

His eyes keep flicking to Romana, who has picked up a mug of something from a side table and is sipping it slowly, sliding a discarded datapad back into her lap at the same time. Leela catches the direction of his gaze and rolls her eyes.

“Romana. Come join us at the table.”

“I really — ”

But Leela has crossed the room and taken her hand, and Narvin stares at the way the resistance stiffening Romana’s shoulders melts away, and she reluctantly concedes to being tugged to her feet and herded towards the kitchen table.

Leela drops into the chair opposite him, leaving Romana to sit beside him. Narvin still is unsure what he’s walked into; there’s a distinct lack of designated scripts for being spontaneously invited to dinner with your — how does he begin to put a word to the delicate evolution of his relationship with Leela, much less the complicated tangle of his professional and personal history with Romana? 

“Since you’re here, Narvin,” Romana says, impeccably polite and a bit strained, “we should probably discuss the contract position.” 

He swallows his latest mouthful of soup. “The contract position! Yes.” That’s at least comfortable ground — something that he and Romana have gone over a few times in the office recently.

Leela’s eyes narrow. “Romana — ”

“Leela, we can see that you’re bored in Livia’s administration.”

“I am not _bored_.”

“Restless, then. I know you enjoy working with the students at the Academy, but your role as a liaison to the President has been significantly downgraded, not to mention that you’re not getting involved in any — _side projects_ anymore. ” Romana leans forward. “You have more free time than you used to, and given your salary decrease — ”

“You do not have to worry about my salary.” Leela leans back in her chair, arms crossed.

“This isn’t really about your _salary_ ,” Narvin adds. “But you miss running extra missions, you’ve made that clear.”

“You want me to do work for you.”

“We have the _opportunity_ to hire you every now and then for specific jobs, if there is work you _want_ to do,” Romana says. It’s a good sales pitch — it may not convince Leela now, but it will give her something to think about. And they aren’t actually trying to convince her of anything, other than that she has options for how to occupy her day, if she wants to take them. On a personal level, Narvin doesn’t especially enjoy the thought of Leela in the CIA — the agency doesn’t have a reputation for harboring some of the worst of Gallifrey’s xenophobia for no reason, no matter how much quieter the agents have gotten about it. He also doesn’t want her under his command — it would feel uncomfortable to try to claim authority over her, and uncomfortable in a different way to lack real authority over one of his agents. But the contract position, at least, gives them latitude to ignore some of those professional dynamics. 

Leela gives Romana a withering look before turning the same one on him.

“Leela — ” he starts.

“I am not saying no,” she says, lips pursed. “But I _am_ saying that I did not invite both of you over for dinner so you could talk about work.”

Narvin wants to protest, but they are teetering close to some kind of explanation for tonight, and he’s curious enough to let the contract discussion go.

“Why _did_ you invite me here, exactly?”

Leela lets out a long sigh. “Because you had not eaten enough today, and I thought it would be — nice.”

Romana shifts in the chair beside him, and he almost wishes he could see her face. He wasn’t the only one ambushed today, and the awkwardness of intruding on her evening with Leela is starting to clog the air. Finding a productive conversation topic was temporarily deflecting that awkwardness — but now Narvin is stuck with the knowledge that Romana would probably rather he leave sooner than later.

Narvin’s soup swallowing pace escalates while Romana and Leela chat idly about Leela’s hall neighbors and her so far futile efforts to get to know them. Once Narvin finishes the soup, he drops his dish into the cleaner and hovers on the edge of the kitchen.

“Thank you. For dinner.” He’s looking mostly at Leela, but Romana’s eyes dart up from intently studying the table to give him a fleeting glance — a mix of apologetic and uncertain. 

Leela steps out of the kitchen and walks with him to the door.

“Thank you for coming, Narvin.” Leela smiles and kisses his cheek. Narvin tries not to blush, but he’s certain his face is red the entire walk back to his personal quarters.

* * *

A few weeks later, during an evening that was quite dull before, a small temporal anomaly flares up on a moon near Unvoss. The report flashes onto Romana’s screen, and she calls in one of her scientific specialists to get a sense of how dangerous it is (answer: not particularly, but that could change in a hurry) before hurrying over to Narvin’s office.

The Deputy Coordinator’s office is supposed to be adjacent to the Coordinator’s office, but for reasons including but not limited to professional autonomy, delegation, and the fact that too many of the agents were still accidentally showing up to the Coordinator’s office when they were there to see Narvin, they decided to set up on separate sides of the building. 

However, that didn’t account for the fact that they have a bad habit of needing to argue in person.

Romana breezes past his secretary, who’s just opening his mouth to either alert Narvin or warn her away, and buzzes open his door. 

She spends the next several moments staring with increasingly arched eyebrows as Narvin turns several shades of red in quick succession. Leela unwinds her arm from around his shoulders, lifts her head from where she was downright nuzzling his neck, and hops off the arm of his chair. Romana only barely has the presence of mind to shut the door behind her.

“I didn’t know you were in the CIA Tower, Leela.” Romana purses her lips. Narvin is staring desperately at an unassuming corner of his desk. 

Leela merely shrugs, the expression on her face caught between mischievous and smug. “I stopped by before work. Did you know that Narvin has been sleeping in his office the past two nights?”

Romana crosses her arms. “Really.”

Narvin flaps a hand, still not looking at her. “There’s something not right about the temporal readings out of Illia. I haven’t been able to pinpoint it yet, but — ”

“But you think sleep deprivation will help?”

“I’m not _sleep deprived_.”

“Because that office chair must be _so_ comfortable.” Romana drops into the chair across from his desk. “But we can talk about your terrible work habits — ”

“Oh, you’re one to talk — ”

“ — _after_ we go over the report from Unvoss.”

“What happened on Unvoss?” Leela asks.

At that, Narvin does manage to look her in the eye, but only enough to exchange a quick glance that means they definitely shouldn’t be talking about CIA business in front of a member of the presidential staff without clearance. Romana is almost certain they’ve both flouted that rule before, but doing it in the Deputy Coordinator’s office is different. 

“I’m afraid this is CIA business, Leela,” Romana says. “But it’s nothing terribly interesting, at least not yet.”

“Not yet,” Narvin mutters. “My favorite words.”

Romana holds up a hand as Leela moves towards the door. “Wait in my office, please. I’ll be over in a few microspans.”

Leela gives her sharp, puzzled look, but nods before leaving the room.

The silence after the door closes is too thick, strained. Romana crosses and uncrosses her legs and tries not to remember the way Narvin smiled at Leela, before the warmth in his eyes dissolved into mortification. She doesn’t have any problem with their relationship, of course she doesn’t. But something about this impromptu collision reminds her too much of Narvin abruptly showing up for dinner at Leela’s invitation. Or how Leela’s taken to holding either of their hands when it’s just the three of them in a room. Too many moments that aren’t — aren’t quite _right_ , although she can’t name the discomfort that’s settled inside of her. 

“There’s a temporal anomaly,” she says, sudden, and the strained silence passes.

It doesn’t take long to make a quick plan for how to monitor the situation. Romana was going to give Narvin the option of supervising this project, but after his comments about Illia she decides against it. She updates the Sub-Coordinator who primarily manages that sector of space before returning to her own office, where Leela has apparently decided to steal her chair.

“It’s a good thing no one else walked in,” Romana says after shutting the door, eyebrows raised at Leela’s knees propped up against her desk. 

“Are you talking about now or earlier?”

“Both, actually.” Romana gives Leela a mild glare until she stands, smoothing down her tunic. It’s cream with gold accents, the same wardrobe she wore under Romana’s presidency. Seeing those colors that used to be hers does flare up a possessive streak that Romana does her best to squash. She knows where Leela’s loyalties lie — and Livia certainly does too, hence Leela’s demotion within the presidential staff. 

Leela perches on a corner of Romana’s desk, looking entirely unconcerned. 

“Are you doing this on purpose?” Romana sighs.

“Am I doing _what_ on purpose?”

“Today might not have been — you didn’t _know_ I would be meeting with Narvin. But, last week, in general — I’m not sure which of us you’re trying to embarrass, but — ”

It’s the wrong choice of words. Leela stands, fist clenched. “So now I am an _embarrassment_?”

“I didn’t mean _that_.” Romana rubs her temples. “Leela, I — I want to spend time with you, always, but there’s a difference between that time and when I’m at work.”

“I was not in _your_ office this morning.”

“And yes, I should be having a word with Narvin about appropriate office boundaries, but that is a conversation I really _don’t_ want to have, so please.” She resists the urge to shut her eyes, backpedal out of this conversation. “I know that you care very much for me and — and for Narvin. But as his immediate superior, that’s really all I need to know.”

Leela frowns at her. “You are more than his _immediate superior_.”

Romana’s chest tightens. She ignores it. “Of course we’ve been through a lot together, but we do work together, first and foremost.”

Leela’s sigh is weary, exasperated. “I was afraid you would say that.”

“Say what?”

“That you are colleagues, before you are friends. It was too much to hope that you had moved past that.”

The tightening in her chest increases, harder to dismiss. “The work we’re doing together is important, and I trust him. We don’t need to _move past_ anything.” 

Leela’s shoulders fall. “I asked him over for dinner because I wanted to spend time with both of you when it was not about _work_. But it seems like that is not possible.” There’s an edge to her voice, but she doesn’t sound angry anymore, just tired.

Romana sighs. “It’s _possible_. But, well. Circumstances change.” 

“What do you mean?”

“I suppose we _used_ to spend more time together outside of work, but that was a long time ago. And it’s not like either of us had a lot of options then.” 

Several emotions flicker quietly on Leela’s face before she settles on curiosity. “I have never asked what it was like, when he was your Chancellor.”

“Miserable, for a while. I’m sure that’s what he would say. I’m not the easiest person to be around, as you may have noticed.” Her finger traces the edge of her desk. “But then — I don’t know. He was the only person I could _talk_ to. And yes, a lot of times it _was_ about work, but other times — well. Whatever else he might be, Narvin isn’t a dull conversation partner, even if he would also complain _endlessly_ about my taste in wine, no matter how much I tried to find _some_ vintage he could tolerate as evidence that his taste isn’t _completely_ deplorable — ” She cuts herself off, her face heating at the way Leela is smiling back at her, fond and knowing.

“Do you miss that?”

Romana clears her throat. “It provided some variety, certainly, but it isn’t strictly necessary anymore.”

Leela raises her eyebrows.

“Stop that. I — _enjoyed_ talking with Narvin, but after we came back, both of us were so busy, and he certainly seemed much happier not having to deal with me on a regular basis — ”

“ — so naturally, you took over his office,” Leela says dryly and then blinks. “Was that part of the reason?”

“Was what part of the reason?”

Leela’s trying not to laugh. “Did you appoint yourself Coordinator because you _missed having Narvin around_?” 

“I — ” Romana swallows an indignant noise. “I’ve _told_ you. I needed to step down from the Presidency, because of the timelines and because frankly, I never particularly wanted the office again after we returned. And I needed to go somewhere where I’d still have _some_ power and where there was someone around who I trusted — ”

“So you appointed yourself Coordinator because you missed having Narvin around.”

“You are _vastly_ oversimplifying.” 

“And _you_ are refusing to admit that you miss your friend.”

The tightness in her chest twists. “Well, the feeling certainly isn’t mutual.”

Leela stares at her, and then _laughs_. Prickles race up and down Romana’s spine, a self-consciousness at the unintentional outburst. 

“Yes, it’s all very funny,” she snaps. “Now I do need to be getting on with my day, so — ”

“Romana, you misunderstand.” Leela steps forward, eyes sparkling. “I am only laughing because — how could you possibly know that, if you’ve never asked him?”

“I don’t need to ask him. It’s rather obvious, just as it’s rather obvious that he’s only barely gotten used to my being in the CIA, although _used to_ is probably putting it politely — ”

Leela squeezes her arm. “Talk to him.”

“Leela.”

She steps past Romana. “I would like to have this evening to myself. It is up to you what you do with yours, but perhaps you still have some terrible wine for Narvin to complain about.”

Feeling like she’s lost an argument she didn’t at all plan on having today, Romana watches the door slide shut. 

Leela’s being ridiculous. _Ridiculous._

Although she isn’t wrong about Romana missing those late nights on the other Gallifrey. There are so few people in the universe that Romana can let herself relax around, so few people she trusts not to use that temporary weakness against her. And she does still trust Narvin, of course she trusts him, and _alright_ perhaps she does have the occasional itch to get into a debate about the relative merits of ancient architectural engineering theories or some such academic argument, but that is an itch she isn’t meant to indulge. Narvin is her friend, but that friendship has always been held together by their duty to Gallifrey. Anything else isn’t particularly important.

That evening, she opens her cupboard and stares at a bottle of Heartshaven vintage for a long time before taking it out with a groan. When she heads back to her office long after the sun has set, it’s hidden in her robes. 

This is absurd. It’s _silly_. But it’ll get Leela off her case, and that’s good enough, isn’t it? 

And if he isn’t there, she can have a drink by herself.

* * *

Leela isn’t stopping by his rooms tonight, so Narvin has a chance of cracking whatever is going on in Illia before the suns come up. Not that he plans to stay awake until the suns come up, but the CIA offices are exactly the sort of place where day and night blur together. Of course he knows exactly what time it is, but the _implications_ of that time are more easily ignored.

If only he could stop yawning. 

He isn’t used to having Leela pay such close attention to his comings and goings — isn’t used to having another person who cares when he leaves after dinner to go back into the office and doesn’t spend the night in his own bed. It lights a warm, unfamiliar sensation inside of him — the same sensation as when she falls asleep, snoring, with her head on her chest, or grins at him, eyes sparkling, when they’re sparring together in the CIA training facilities purely for the enjoyment of it, or when she kisses him, fierce and certain, at the end of the day. 

He should definitely categorize his entire relationship with her as a distraction. Somehow, it’s a futile effort.

Narvin is remapping the distortion around Illia and trying to figure out why it looks familiar, when his office door slides open. 

It’s late; his secretary has gone home for the day. Most of his agents have gone home for the day, and those that haven’t would know better than to barge into the Deputy Coordinator’s office without permission. And Narvin prides himself on a cautious paranoia — he’s not ill-prepared for an ambush in his own office. 

Which is how he ends up with a staser half-drawn from his desk, with an equally startled Romana staring back at him.

“Am I interrupting?” she says, hands raised slightly.

Narvin hastily drops the weapon back into his drawer. “Sorry. I, ah. I thought you had left the building.”

“And so you concluded that anyone entering your office would be an intruder.” A smile quirks at the corners of her mouth.

“Most people generally knock.”

“You _never_ knock.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Did I say _I_ was most people?”

Now Romana really does smile, although she’s clearly trying not to. “Apparently not, since _most people_ would have gone home at this hour.”

“And yet, here we both are.” He pauses. “Does Leela know you went back into the office?”

“Leela needs some space from Time Lords tonight.” Romana sounds amused, not unhappy, so it wasn’t a fight that prompted that. And it’s a perfectly understandable sentiment — while Narvin is more delighted than he’ll ever tell her to have Leela choose to spend many of her evenings with him, he does also enjoy the peace and quiet on the nights when he has his quarters to himself. 

“So you’re here because you have nothing better to do?”

“That’s not _quite_ how I would put it.” Romana sits opposite him, and it strikes him — she’s oddly nervous. Fidgeting as she settles down in her chair, hands not quite moving. There’s something tucked under her arm, hidden by the folds of her robes.

“I thought I’d see how you were getting on with Illia, since you’ve decided that staring endlessly at the same problem will make it go away.”

“That criticism _might_ be acceptable, if it were coming from anyone else.” 

Romana’s eyes flick to his, and her shoulders lower, relaxed. There was no sting behind his words, only the same dry chiding.

She settles back in her chair. “Let’s see what you’ve got then.”

“And what exactly do _you_ have? You didn’t come here empty-handed.”

Romana drums her fingers on the edge of his desk. “I also came here assuming your office would have more — _things_ in it.”

"Things?”

She lifts a wine bottle from under her arm and perches it on the edge of his desk with a sigh. “Hard to have a drink without. Well.”

Narvin stares. “You brought a bottle of wine but nothing to pour it in.”

“Oh, do shut up.” 

He purses his lips — now he’s the one struggling not to laugh. “There are glasses in the Tower kitchens. Second floor.”

“I know where the kitchens are,” she says, in a voice that implies she probably didn’t. Romana isn’t the type to eat in the CIA mess — both of them, in fact, are much more likely to take their lunch in their office. 

She stands. “Two microspans, I’ll be back. And then we can talk about Illia.”

As Romana starts to slip out of the room, Narvin calls after her, sudden. “Is Heartshaven wine actually any better in this universe? Or is this some ploy to poison me?”

There’s something so familiar about the way she rolls her eyes, but he hasn’t seen it in years. “There would be better ways to poison you.”

“You aren’t known for your subtlety. Also, I _think_ you just admitted that it _is_ terrible.”

“Your taste is what’s terrible.” Romana points at his desk. “Two microspans. Don’t sabotage my wine.”

The door slides shut, and Narvin is left staring at the same screens with an odd new feeling in his stomach. It doesn’t surprise him that Romana would be bored and looking for something to do with her evening — neither of them are particularly good at taking a break at the end of the day. But the wine is an old touch — an obvious old touch — and he’s hit with an abrupt memory of arguing in her presidential office on another world, of the way she laughed, of a quiet peace at the end of a long day. 

Narvin lets the memory go. A lot has changed since those days, and besides, she only came here tonight for work.

* * *

The following day, Leela stops by Romana’s rooms as she’s inhaling a mug of tea and trying to rub the sleep from her eyes. It’s early — well, early for Leela, who sleeps earlier in the night and later in the morning than nearly all of the inhabitants of Gallifrey. (Romana has no idea what Ace’s sleep schedule is, but either she gets an astounding amount of sleep, or is somehow _still_ that energetic — Romana isn’t sure which is more horrifyingly impressive.)

“What are you up for?” Romana has one foot halfway into a boot, but wriggling with her footwear is abruptly put on halt as Leela slips her arms around Romana’s waist and tugs her close, chin resting on her shoulder. Romana’s hands flap briefly in a terribly uncoordinated motion before settling on Leela’s back. 

“Good morning,” Leela murmurs into her neck.

“Good morning,” Romana echoes faintly. 

It’s one thing for something like this to happen after Leela has slept in her bed for the night. It makes sense that they would stay entwined under the covers for several long, lazy moments before the start of the day. But her morning visit, this embrace — warm, certain, for no particular reason — Romana tightens her grip without thinking, suddenly struck with an unwillingness to let Leela go.

“How was your evening?” Leela asks, a slight challenge in her voice, and ah, there it is. Something to spoil the moment. 

“Uneventful,” Romana says, stepping back to return to fiddling with the clasp on her boot. “Mostly.”

“Mostly.”

“Classified, I’m afraid.”

Leela rolls her eyes. “Things are only _classified_ when you want them to be.”

“For someone of my rank, that is generally how it works, yes.”

Leela elbows her in the side, and Romana bites back an undignified yelp and teeters in place, her boot fastening interrupted once more.

“It’s possible someone around Illia got hold of technology they shouldn’t have.” She finishes the first clasp and switches to the other boot. “Not ours, but one of the other Temporal Powers. And that’s all you’re getting out of me.”

Leela leans back against the wall, eyeing her sharply. “So you were in the office.”

“Not all night. I did _sleep_ , too.”

“Was Narvin in the office?”

“Illia _is_ his pet project.”

“And that was all you talked about.”

“Nearly.” Romana sets both feet back down on the ground and leans sideways against the same wall as Leela, biting her lip. “Apparently, his taste in wine is just as terrible in this world.”

Leela’s expression cracks into a grin, clear and unabashed, and anything Romana does would be worth it to see her smile like that. 

She hastily corrects the thought — not _anything_. But it is certainly ridiculous and risky and wonderful, the sway Leela has over her. The way her smile, her quick squeeze of Romana’s hand, leaves her breath stuttering in her throat.

“So you _did_ spend time together.”

Romana doesn’t quite look at Leela. “Well. Not really. We were just looking over his Illia data a couple more times before calling it a night. Sometimes it pays to have a fresh pair of eyes on something. But there _was_ wine involved, so you can stop bringing it up now.”

Leela’s smile vanishes.

“It was not the _wine_ that mattered.” She sighs, shifting closer against the wall so her shoulder brushes Romana. “You are both terrible at admitting that you are friends.”

“I can _admit_ that Narvin is my friend.”

“But when you say that, it sounds like you mean — _trusted associate_ , or _valued colleague_ , or all those words that mean that if you did not have to work with him, you would not care.”

“Of course I would still _care_ , Leela. But you’re right, I suppose, in that we wouldn’t have much reason to talk to each other if it wasn’t for our work.” Romana tips her head against Leela’s shoulder. It’s easier, talking like that. “But is that _such_ a bad thing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Protecting Gallifrey isn’t really your fight, Leela, and sometimes I’m so very glad of that.” She smiles, wry. “Sometimes, I need a little perspective. But Gallifrey _is_ Narvin’s fight, and it always has been, and that — that means something, too.” Her voice drops to nearly a whisper. “It means something to me, to work with someone I trust. That can be enough.” She clears her throat. “That _is_ enough, I mean.”

Leela is silent for a heartbeat, and then she nudges Romana’s shoulder. “Alright.”

“And now, I’m afraid, I have a briefing in ten microspans.”

The moments that follow — the gathering of her things, Leela’s quick kiss to her cheek, the way their hands brush as they both depart the Coordinator’s quarters — they’re simple, easy. And yet not so long ago Romana had never dreamed of that simplicity, of Leela fitting so naturally into the quiet corners of her life. She doubts she’ll ever truly let go of the part of her that’s waiting for that peace to break, but for now it’s more than she could have dreamed.

She walks into the CIA Tower. Its halls are starting to feel familiar.

* * *

That night, Leela is at risk of rapidly dismantling Narvin’s carefully organized system for the scraps of decommissioned technology he’s rescued to his own quarters. Often, these sorts of parts come in handy later, sometimes for practical reasons, sometimes for purely aesthetic ones, and if she’s not careful, she’s going to topple the entire row of old staser casings that were sorted by production date, size, thickness, _and_ amount of existing damage —

Leela catches one in each hand as they wobble off the shelf, and Narvin exhales.

“Please. Put everything back _exactly_ where you found it.”

She grins at him over her shoulder. “Do you trust me?”

“I’m starting to re-evaluate that trust, given that you’ve insisted on rummaging through my things.”

“ _You_ showed them to me.”

“Not so you could rearrange them!”

She purses her lips. “I am not _rearranging_ anything. I’m only looking, and you have so many things stacked on top of other things in this box.”

“It’s dimensionally transcendental.” Narvin tries not to wince as her elbow disappears and something clangs. “Of course there’s a lot inside. Now could you please — that’s technically official CIA property.”

Leela doesn’t move her arm. “Apparently the CIA did not want it. Which means — ”

“ — while I am mildly concerned about what exactly you’re looking for in there and for what purpose, I would also like to point out, _again_ , that the CIA _does_ use it.” Narvin straightens his shoulders. “It’s a useful exercise for the younger agents, throwing them some scrap in a training exercise, seeing what they can do.”

Leela does withdraw her arm at that. “You teach them to _improvise_. Did you miss that lesson yourself?”

“I _improvise_.”

“Your kind of improvisation involves you standing next to far too many explosives.”

“That was only — ” Narvin clears his throat. Best if he not _actually_ put a number on the amount of times he’s had an unfortunate run-in with a detonation device. 

“Only?”

“I don’t think it’s strictly necessary we discuss that.”

Leela’s still smiling, but she does dance away from the collection of scrap to settle on top of him on the chair, her head resting on his shoulder, a leg thrown carelessly over his lap. Narvin still isn’t used to being touched like this, with such easy affection, and his hearts race against his will. 

“I will stop going through your things, if you stop working for the night.” Her voice is a murmur against his ear. 

“Leela. I, ah.” Narvin struggles to turn his attention back to the datapad. “This situation with Illia and the Monan technology — ”

“Oh, so it is the _Monans_. Romana would not say.” Leela wriggles against him — the position is not entirely comfortable for either of them, squashed in one small chair with the datapad between them, but he’s reluctant to dislodge her. 

“Romana told you about the disturbances?”

“Not much. Only that you worked something out last night when you were in the office.” There’s a subtle shift to her voice, something that’s similar to amusement or curiosity, but isn’t quite either. “I heard she brought wine.”

Narvin runs a finger along the edge of the datapad. “Yes.”

“And?”

“Is there an _and_?”

“Does she _usually_ do that?”

Narvin quickly reviews several possibilities of what Leela could be hinting at and discards most of them out of hand. “She hasn’t tried to, ah, _reform_ my taste in wine since I was Chancellor of Gallifrey. I thought she’d given up on that particular project.”

“I doubt she really cares about the wine.”

Narvin frowns. “Leela, I’m not quite sure what you’re — ”

Leela shifts on his lap, nearly elbowing him in the ribs as she repositions herself so she’s snuggled against his chest. Narvin’s arms wrap around her automatically, his fingers playing lightly with the edges of her hair. 

“Romana is trying to be friends,” she says begrudgingly, as if she dislikes having to be the bearer of this news. 

Narvin blinks, leans back against the chair. “I was under the impression that we _were_ friends.”

“Apparently, you used to be better at it.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” Narvin says, but something heavy settles into his stomach. There was a time when seeing Romana was a bright spot in the dreary routine of his day, even if they were arguing, even if they were struggling against a world they didn’t belong in. And it wasn’t always time technology funding and the politics of the Outsider settlements — sometimes it was trading obscure bits of knowledge they’d collected in their lives like it was a competition, or absolutely criticizing the ostentatious decor of the presidential palace until they couldn’t help but laugh. 

His friendship with her has always been precarious, always been a push and pull, always teetering on the edge of something that threatens to overwhelm him. Perhaps it’s true that he was closer to her once, but a closer relationship isn’t the same as a better one.  
She was important to him in too many ways, and it was exhilarating. Terrifying.

 _Was._ Past tense. Ever since they returned to their proper Gallifrey, Narvin has carefully boxed away any complicated, dangerous Romana-related feelings, and shoved that box to the back of his mind. He’s there to work for her, with her, try to push her towards what policies he most agreed with. Nothing else is important.

Of course, that got altogether more complicated when she insisted on dismissing him from the job he’d worked towards for years, without any advance notice. Narvin’s feelings towards the Office of the CIA Coordinator are altogether different, and far more possessive and judgemental, than his feelings towards the Office of the President, and so having _Romana_ in that office has been — strange, at best. There’s something that’s missing, now that he’s trained himself not to call her _Madam President_ anymore, and he isn’t quite sure what it is. He isn’t quite sure how he feels about it.

 _Romana is trying to be friends._ Something new twists inside of him, just as strange, just as difficult to explain. Romana doesn’t share affection easily, certainly not with him. _Was_ the wine meant to be one of those awkward attempts? How in Rassilon’s name did she mean for him to respond to the gesture?

Leela drops the subject; their conversation moves on. But as he returns to flicking through the Illia charts after Leela falls asleep on his pillow, Narvin realizes: last night, he saw Romana smile at him more than she has in years.

* * *

They’re in the middle of a daily debrief. It’s something they’re trying — Romana will decide later if it’s a waste of time to have a proper meeting with Narvin when they could just send a message. But she understands the importance of at least appearing to improve communications after an incident six months ago, when contradictory orders to separate agents sent to contain a tiny temporal explosion nearly proved fatal.

And, she can privately admit, having someone to talk with over lunch _is_ a welcome break from staring at her screens. 

“I didn’t expect the late night wine-tasting, the other day,” Narvin says, after swallowing a bite. His voice is nonchalant, but Romana’s stomach tenses. She didn’t really expect him to mention it after the fact, and if Leela said something —

Romana can handle her own vaguely strained friendships, thank you very much.

“It’s been a while,” she shrugs. “And it’s a different world.”

Narvin pauses. The expression on his face is hard to decipher — thoughtful, measured, and uncertain all at once. 

“Did you really think that would be enough to win me over?” he says. His voice is equally amused and sharp — he’s teasing, a bit, but also. 

But also, it’s a challenge. And Romana has never been one to back down from his challenges. 

“I suppose I’ll have to keep trying,” she says, and when she meets his eyes, there’s something — something she’s felt too rarely with him in recent years. A sense of camaraderie. Of something like affection. 

Narvin snorts. Romana hides her own smile. 

It’s a start.


	2. Chapter 2

By any measure, Narvin doesn’t like wasting time. He prides himself on his efficiency, his focus, his refusal to deviate from the duty in front of him. 

But his lunch briefs with Romana have become practically an excuse for wasting time. Weeks have passed since he started dropping by her office midday, and while they always start out with a healthy dose of work discussion, the conversation has recently taken to straying. The latest report from their intelligence operators monitoring the Monan Host turns into the latest silly diplomatic scandal between the Monans and the Nekkistani turns into the latest drama among the lower level presidential staffers (Leela tells plenty of stories) turns into the latest petty gossip among the agents (Narvin hears even more as Deputy Coordinator than he did as Coordinator). There’s a pretense of usefulness — minor scandal and petty drama can cause actual problems when blown out of proportion — but they aren’t talking because it’s _useful_.

And it isn’t just their lunch meetings, too. After the Illia incident, Romana’s taken to dropping back his office late in the day, so they can go back-and-forth on the bigger picture — what intelligence have they been ignoring for too long as background chatter? Where are their flags that suggest they need to be monitoring a situation more closely? Where have they been delaying getting involved because of budget cuts or other restraints?

Those conversations drift, too. They’ll even slip into personal anecdotes — bits of his early days at the CIA, snippets of her adventures on other worlds. 

She keeps bringing him wine. Alien wine, these days. Narvin has never liked the taste of it, and he doesn’t start now, no matter what planet it’s from. But he always tries it because that’s part of their routine now — his increasingly elaborate criticism, Romana’s scoff and mocking aloofness as she sips her own glass. Of course it reminds him of his days as her Chancellor, but there is something — _something_ — that feels different now, the two of them tucked away in his corner of the CIA Tower at the end of a long day.

Maybe he still isn’t used to seeing her outside of the cream and gold of the presidency. Maybe he isn’t used to this new balance of power between them — her vision and penchant for questioning mixing with his experience and more relevant skill sets. Narvin reports to her, but Romana asks him for names and histories, trusts him to make his own calls. 

Occasionally, he takes her down to the weapons range when no other agents are there ( _“Everyone else at the Agency had to go through basic training, you don’t get to skip it entirely”_ ) and winces at her aim. She glares at him, face red. Narvin isn’t used to this, but he doesn’t mind it — the way her stubborn insistence that she can _do things she’s never trained in_ falters, the way she learns to listen — _sometimes_ — to his instructions. The way she watches him hit the target and tries to hide an impressed smile. The way her eyes light up the first time she hits close to the center. (She’ll probably never be a great shot, and carrying a weapon isn’t in her nature. But that’s why she has other people around to watch her back.) 

Narvin will never stop thinking of the CIA as his. _Deputy Coordinator_ will never stop feeling ill-fitting when he hears it. But some days, many days, it’s starting to feel _right_ , this working together. 

* * *

Leela’s first contract position with the CIA is a training instructor, which is more entertaining than anything else. Sometimes Romana sneaks down to the training facility to watch her sweep new recruits off their feet quite literally. 

“Narvin pretends his agents learn how to improvise, but they only learn to shoot things very quickly when in danger,” she says later, halfway through a bowl of stew at Romana’s kitchen table. “Even if you have to fight your way out of a situation, there are many more options.”

“An interesting assessment coming from someone who enjoys stabbing first and asking questions later.”

“Romana.” Leela sets down her bowl and appraises her, mouth tugging into a smirk. “You do not want to know how many different ways I could kill you.”

Romana swallows. “Perhaps not.”

“Narvin also says that you have not yet managed the _shoot very quickly_ method.” Her eyes sparkle. “Perhaps I should teach you a few different techniques.”

“If I didn’t need to know how to shoot a weapon when I was actively running about the universe and getting involved with monsters and coups and the like, I certainly don’t _need_ to know how when I spend most of my days sitting at a desk.”

Leela raises her eyebrows. “Apparently I am not the only one who is bored.”

Romana lifts a spoon of her own stew to her mouth, takes a moment to swallow. “As President I had slightly more latitude to take missions off world.”

“You mean that no one outranked you, so they could not ask too many questions.”

She sighs. “Something like that. And I’m meant to be the political voice of the CIA on Gallifrey, I can’t go gallivanting off to correct a temporal disturbance. I have _people_ for that. Speaking of,” she starts, and the conversation shifts to a recovery mission that could really do with a human agent, and since Ace is away, would Leela be interested?

Once they’re done with the details, Leela takes her hand and presses the curve of Romana’s knuckles to her lips. Romana startles — she’s still getting used to the consistency of Leela’s affectionate gestures, the effortless way she makes Romana’s heart leap in her chest. 

“It does not have to be for a mission,” Leela says.

“I — what?”

“Leaving Gallifrey. I am sure the Coordinator of the CIA can find ways to disappear without being noticed if she wants to.” The sparkle has returned to Leela’s eyes. “As could a clever member of the presidential staff.”

Romana smiles in spite of herself. “What are you plotting?”

“It would not be the first time we have left the planet, just because. Or the third time. Or the fifth time.”

“As President — ”

“You had more _latitude_ , yes. But Presidents are more conspicuous than CIA Coordinators.” Leela shrugs. “And besides, you are an ex-renegade and I am an alien. It is expected that we have a little fun offworld every now and then, probably.”

“Probably,” Romana says, but her smile doesn’t leave.

And so it begins: stealing Leela away some late nights in an unregistered TARDIS, racing through marketplaces and great grassy hills and the tails of galaxies. Romana tries to avoid trouble, but it does find them every now and then, and Leela always grins, bright and wide.

It isn’t often — they both have work to keep them occupied on Gallifrey, and Leela does need her nights to sleep. But it’s enough to shake a restlessness that Romana didn’t even realize she was carrying.

Sometimes, Romana goes alone. She stands in a crowd where no one knows her name or any of her titles. (Most times, she wants people to know exactly who she is. Sometimes, it’s a relief when they don’t.) 

It makes it easier, sending Narvin or occasionally Leela on their own missions away from the planet, while she stays. Usually she serves as Narvin’s primary contact when he’s offworld, but with Leela she makes an effort to delegate lower in the ranks. The point of this is not for Romana to be watching her, directing her. The point is for Leela to have the opportunity for more kinds of adventures. The point is also for her to share, at least a little, in Romana and Narvin’s work. Neither of them may be thrilled about the idea of directly supervising her, but there’s a solidarity in sharing your workspace. Or, at least, Romana hopes there is — there’s always a chance that Narvin’s just being polite because it’s easier to tolerate Romana than to start a fight all the time. 

The first time she sends them both away from Gallifrey without her, she does insist on overseeing the mission. There is only so much control she can give up at once, and letting someone else watch over both of the people she cares about most is a step too far. 

The mission is dangerous, of course it’s dangerous, they’re _all_ dangerous in their own ways, but this one especially so. Three CIA agents have already vanished after landing on this particular space station, one of them a senior agent with centuries of service on her record. In theory, she doesn’t want Narvin and Leela anywhere near that place, but in reality, they’ve been through more awful and bizarre close calls than nearly anyone on Gallifrey. They make a good team.

Romana only wishes she was there, too.

They stay in communication for a long time. Romana tears through every scrap of data Narvin sends back and forwards it onto the agents who will check and double check her instincts. 

They find it: a creature on the station nibbling away at time. It isn’t a species Romana’s familiar with, but there are a lot of strange things on the edges of the universe, and a lot of life can be distorted by toxic environments. Everyone who’s gone missing there — they’re not _gone_. They can still be remembered, even by those who aren’t time sensitive. But Narvin has a theory: they’ve been edited, their timelines twisted and broken, cast aside to return to new lives that they believe they’ve always lived. 

Possibly, there’s a chance of recovering the agents. Possibly, there’s a chance that Narvin and Leela have already become ensnared in the creature’s web.

She loses contact with them for a span. She nearly sends another team of agents, nearly goes running off herself. But she doesn’t _know_ anything, and what if interfering further only makes it worse —

When their TARDIS materializes in the CIA headquarters, Romana is the first to meet it. Narvin stumbles out first, exhausted by uninjured, exhausted by _unchanged_.

“Leela’s hurt,” he says, and Romana goes cold.

Romana learns later: they had a run in with a corner of the spaceship that was inverting on itself, ripping apart. Leela had tackled Narvin out of the way of a careening wall panel, but it had torn open her shoulder.

But first, she forgets the poise she’s meant to maintain and runs into the TARDIS on his heels, catching Leela’s uninjured arm as Narvin presses his hand back against the cloth to stop the bleeding.

“Stop fussing,” Leela groans. 

“Hypocrite,” Romana mutters. She hides her face in Leela’s hair and inhales shakily, before stepping away long enough to summon a physician. 

“You’ve lost a lot of blood.” Narvin’s face is pale. 

“I have had much worse injuries in my life.”

“Did anything else happen?” Romana demands. “The creature — ”

“ — is still there. But I’ve put a seal on the area. Time ships can’t get close without an override code.” Narvin’s eyes are still fixated on Leela’s shoulder. Romana tries not to shudder at the torn up skin, the bloodsoaked cloth. She steps close enough to hold Leela, close enough to catch her should she collapse. 

“Narvin,” Leela murmurs. “You were not nearly so distressed when I would get injured running missions for the presidential office. It is not any worse because it is the CIA.”

Romana catches Narvin’s eye, takes in his soft worry. “I think he was just better at hiding it,” she says. Narvin holds her gaze, takes in how tightly her arm is wrapped around Leela’s back. When he looks away, it isn’t embarrassed — he steps closer, nose pressed against the side of Leela’s head. If he whispers something in her ear, it’s too soft for even Romana to hear. 

A physician arrives, and Leela vanishes into the medical wing for a few spans. Narvin follows Romana back to her office for a debrief, but for a long time, they just sit in silence on opposite sides of her desk.

“It does feel different,” he says finally. “Because it’s the CIA.”

Romana sighs. “You’re not responsible for her.”

“Neither are you.”

“I’m _more_ responsible, at least.”

“I was _there_ with her. She — ” He swallows. “That panel would have killed me, probably, if she hadn’t knocked me aside.” 

Narvin is trying and failing to keep his voice from shaking. Romana’s own breath seizes in her chest, and she wants suddenly to take his hand, remind them both that he survived, and Leela is getting stitched up as they speak, and she’ll be fine, and they’re all _fine_.

“You both made it back,” she manages, quiet. “That’s all that matters.” 

She’s quite bad at keeping her own voice from trembling.

When Leela’s released from the medical facility, her shoulder bound temporarily, Romana runs into Narvin on the way out of the CIA headquarters and stops. She remembers the awkward discomfort when they both sat in Leela’s kitchen a few months ago, the strange intersection of parts of their lives that were meant to remain separate. 

“I can stay a bit longer in the office,” he says, quick, before she can speak.

She thinks of the soft worry in his eyes, the way it hadn’t felt awkward at all, both of them supporting Leela in the TARDIS console room while they waited for help.

“And leave me alone to make sure Leela’s following the doctor’s orders?” She smiles, raises her eyebrows. “Not a chance.”

He blinks at her and then snorts. “I’ve seen you intimidate heads of planets.”

“Leela is _sufficiently_ more stubborn than the High Monan. Come on.” Romana nudges his shoulder, and Narvin jolts at that before following her through the quiet route to Leela’s rooms.

Leela’s stretched out on her sofa, her sling discarded in a heap on the table. Romana shares a look with Narvin.

“Aren’t you supposed to be wearing that?” she says, exasperated. Leela looks up.

“You both came.” There’s a delight in her voice that makes Romana’s heart flutter. 

“Don’t change the subject,” Narvin says, but the same warmth is in his voice. 

Narvin picks up the sling, Romana slips it back over Leela’s shoulders. She leans back, her head on a pillow against Narvin’s arm, her feet on Romana’s lap. 

It’s entirely unprofessional, all of this, and Romana doesn’t care at all.

* * *

Leela’s shoulder recovers quickly, but something else lingers. Narvin’s end-of-day conversations with Romana trickle over into Leela’s quarters, almost by accident. Sometimes, when they’re discussing petty gossip or old stories, it’s all three of them. Leela tells stories about the other junior presidential staffers — some of them dislike her, but others she’s managed to quickly befriend (which Narvin isn’t surprised by, most people have strong opinions about Leela, one way or another).

Sometimes, Leela insists that Romana recount some story about her travels with the Doctor for Narvin’s benefit. It isn’t the trouble that Romana got into that’s hard to imagine, it’s the whimsy of it. For as long as he’s known her, Romana’s always carried a certain solemn severity in her eyes. She stares down those who oppose her, she insists on defying tradition and expectation. It’s hard to imagine her running after someone else, swept up in one whirlwind adventure after the next and delighted by it.

They always meet in Leela’s rooms, even though they are less secure, more visible. It’s a sort of neutral ground between him and Romana. It feels less like an intrusion.

But Narvin sees: the way the tension leaves Romana’s shoulders when Leela wraps her arm around them and laughs, the way Leela’s eyes sparkle when Romana runs her fingers through Leela’s hair. He sees Leela kiss her cheek, sees Romana blush, sees her look lighter, younger, than she ever has around him.

And he sees Romana watching, too. Watching the way his arm drops naturally around Leela when she leans against him, watching how Leela’s voice turns soft and teasing, watching him smile, still shy. 

It’s hard to tell what she’s thinking.

One night, Narvin is in the office when news they’ve been waiting for comes through from an agent stationed on a little-known moon orbiting a damaged world, whose inhabitants are somehow trading Gallifreyan weaponry on the black market. It isn’t urgent, but it also isn’t particularly late yet, and Narvin starts in the direction of Leela’s rooms before remembering that Leela’s staying over with Romana that night.

He pauses, datapad in hand. Narvin has never been in Romana’s rooms before — well, he _did_ used to live in those particular quarters, but aside from that. 

But it’s not like he’s expecting to be invited in for long. And Romana can always ignore the door, if she doesn’t want to see him.

Narvin knocks, and it isn’t long before Romana appears. She’s already in a long robe and nightdress, presumably expecting a relaxing evening, and Narvin tries not to stare. It’s one thing seeing Romana outside of work, and it’s another thing seeing her _outside of work_.

“I can come back. Another time,” he blurts out. “We can talk tomorrow.”

She squints. “Stop being cryptic Narvin. What is it?”

He holds out the datapad. “The fifth moon of Gildor. It isn’t urgent, technically, but I thought, ah. I thought you would want to be updated.”

Romana takes it, nods. “Thank you.” And then she steps back into the room _with_ his datapad.

Narvin waits in the open doorway for a long moment, watching her retreat, before she realizes he hasn’t moved.

“Stop _hovering_ and get in here. We can go over this now.”

He clears his throat and steps inside, shutting the door behind him. It feels eerie, walking back into these rooms that are now decidedly no longer his — the new armchairs and occasional bright painting on the walls make that clear. There is a curl of resentment that flares in his stomach, at how easy it was for Romana to make herself at home in this place that he had worked so long to earn. But it’s not like Narvin cared much about his living quarters in particular — they were a place to lay down at the end of the day, nothing particularly meaningful in that. 

Narvin’s shaken out of this confusing whirlpool of emotions by Leela tossing a pillow at his head. He ducks, barely.

Romana, settled onto an armchair with her legs tucked underneath her, snickers. “Paying attention now?” 

“Very funny.” Narvin eyes dart around before he perches on the edge of the sofa closest to Romana. Leela’s curled up on the other end, watching the pair of them with vague distrust.

“Are you going to spend all night doing this? Because I can leave.”

“No.” Romana flaps a hand. “It’ll only take a bit.”

“And it could not wait?”

“Well…” Romana tugs her lower lip in her teeth, eyes meeting Narvin’s over the datapad. There’s puzzlement in her expression — she evidently can’t parse why Narvin would have wandered over here to deliver the news. 

Sitting here, Narvin isn’t quite sure himself.

But her prediction is right — it doesn’t take long to review the intelligence and develop a loose plan of attack, even with Leela’s interrupting side commentary. Romana grabs her own datapad, transferring the data, before setting them both on a nearby table. 

“Do you want a Rennifran tart before you go?” Leela asks.

Narvin blinks. “A what?”

“It’s a kind of — ” Romana makes a vague gesture. “Layered sweet?”

“It is _delicious_ ,” Leela adds. “And we have had too many already tonight.”

Narvin opens his mouth to decline, but Leela tugs him off the sofa and tows him towards the kitchen. “Or we have the leftover — what is it called again?”

“ _Jillialora_.” Romana follows them. “The Tylan marketplace is really _too_ tempting.”

“When were you at the Tylan marketplace?”

Leela tips her head, counting. “Three days ago.”

“ _Why_?”

Leela shrugs. “The food is better.” She opens a large multicolored box on the counter and produces a tall square thing that’s just as speckled with color. Narvin squints at it. 

“It is not going to kill you,” Leela smirks. “Try it.”

Narvin does, a tad reluctantly, but the explosion of sugary flavor on his tongue is muted by the revelation that Leela and Romana are taking trips off world _just because_. He knew they had done so occasionally while Romana was President, but that at least had been a matter of public record. 

Maybe Romana is learning how to be a CIA agent, after all.

“So?” Romana’s leaning across the countertop, amusement and curiosity written on her face.

Narvin swallows. “It’s…. _very_ sweet.”

Leela laughs. “That is why it is good!”

It takes Narvin only a little while longer, and a little more food tasting, to make his excuses and leave. This entire evening has been strange, strange in a pleasant way that Narvin doesn’t know how to categorize, and he’s looking forward to being back in his own rooms, where everything is much simpler. He snatches up his datapad without looking, opening it to do one last quick check — it wouldn’t do to notice a vitally important message right after he’s left Romana’s rooms. 

Narvin stares in bewilderment. His datapad has an encrypted password lock. And he _definitely_ didn’t have this open underneath his CIA files.

“Narvin?” Leela asks. “What is wrong?”

Struck by a sudden thought, Narvin glances back at the table where Romana had discarded both of their datapads. Now that he’s paying more attention, he’s reasonably certain that his was the one that ended up on the far end, which means —

Narvin bites his tongue. “Nothing. I, ah. I grabbed the wrong datapad, that’s all.”

Leela swivels suddenly to face Romana and waggles her eyebrows. “What is _on_ your datapad?”

“Don’t look so scandalized,” she huffs. “There’s nothing incriminating in my CIA files.”

Narvin swaps their datapads back. “It wasn’t a CIA file.”

“I don’t — ” Romana freezes and turns a rather deep shade of pink. “Oh.”

“Indeed.”

_“Oh.”_

She sinks onto the sofa cushion. “Can we please never speak of this again?”

Narvin raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t _know_ you liked human romance novels, but it isn’t _that_ strange. Although — ”

“Wait.” Romana’s brow furrows, and then, to his surprise, looks _relieved_. “ _Oh._ That.”

He frowns. “Hold on. That’s the _less_ embarrassing thing on your datapad?”

“I’m not _embarrassed_ ,” Romana snaps, looking decidedly embarrassed. “You may not have heard of _hobbies_ , Narvin, but some of us occasionally like to read things for _fun_. At least you always know how those books are going to end.” 

“You’re changing the subject.”

“What subject? And aren’t you leaving?”

“Romana — ”

“ _Oh_.” Leela bursts out laughing. “You thought Narvin saw — ”

Narvin has never seen Romana move so fast. Her hand is pressed over Leela’s mouth before she can finish. She lifts her nose, trying to retain some air of dignity, but it’s ruined by the fact that Leela still hasn’t stopped laughing. 

“I’m feeling a bit left out here,” he says dryly.

Leela wriggles away from Romana’s hand. “To be fair, Romana did not mean for me to learn about it either.”

“ _It_?”

Leela’s eyes sparkle. “Hobbies.” She turns to Romana. “But I did not realize you kept it on your _work_ datapad.”

She lets out a long sigh. “That isn’t my work datapad. I grabbed the wrong one, alright?”

“Then please make sure you clear any CIA data you _accidentally uploaded_ off of it,” Narvin says. “Especially since it’s not an automatic lock encryption.”

“I’m starting to think it should be an automatic lock encryption,” Romana mutters. 

“For your _romance novels_?” Leela says, teasing.

“That’s enough from you.” Romana stands, clearly trying to herd Narvin towards the door. “And I’ll see you in the morning, Narvin.”

It takes a considerable amount of effort to avoid pressing the subject of what was on her non-work datapad. But as Narvin leaves her rooms, and this truly baffling evening, he can’t help but add, “I do have hobbies too, you know.” For no other reason, perhaps, than to watch the mixed surprise and curiosity in her eyes.

* * *

Romana double encrypts her personal writing files after the Incident, just in case.

It was embarrassing, but strangely, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. The memory lingers: the way Narvin had looked at her after accidentally opening her datapad was the same way he looked at her when she opened the door that night, leaning against the doorframe in her nightrobe. Like he was out of place. Like he was the one without all the information, and it had left him a bit unsteady. Like he wasn’t expecting to see these sides of her.

Romana decides she rather liked confusing Narvin’s expectations.

The last thing he said lingers most of all: _I do have hobbies too, you know_. Maybe it’s a challenge, or maybe it’s out of a sense of fairness, or maybe she doesn’t have a good reason at all, but it’s a couple weeks after the Incident that Romana finds herself knocking on the door to his rooms.

Narvin opens it, staring. “Leela isn’t here.”

“I know.” She raises her eyebrows. “May I come in?”

Looking more alarmed by the moment, Narvin steps back. 

When Romana wanders in, she has to bite back a sigh. Romana assumed that Narvin had moved all his things out of the Coordinator’s quarters before she arrived, but the Deputy Coordinator’s rooms are similarly sparse, the brightest colors a series of random objects lining one of his shelves. Stepping closer, Romana guesses several are from Leela, from her trips off world or out of the city. A tag tangles off a paper sculpture, and Romana can’t help but laugh when she reads it.

“I always knew Ace liked you better.” 

“That is categorically untrue,” Narvin mutters. “She doesn’t enjoy tormenting _you_.”

“She’s never given me a present, either.” Romana tips her head to face him, smiling. “And you _kept_ it.”

“Stop that.”

“What?”

“Your _face_.”

“I think it’s sweet.”

“Yes, well.” Narvin clears his throat. “Are you here for a reason?”

Romana turns, hands clasped in front of her. “Fair’s fair.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Hobbies. You said you had them. I think it’s only fair that if you know one of _mine_ , then — ” She waits for him to fill in the blank.

Narvin stares. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. And _you_ were the one who mentioned it.”

“I didn’t think — ” His eyes drop to his feet. 

“You didn’t think what?”

“That you’d be _interested_.”

There’s a surprising sting in her hearts, at that. There’s nothing bitter in his voice, but Romana realizes — there are a lot of sides of Narvin she’s missed too, over the years. She’s always assumed that his life began and ended with his devotion to Gallifrey, but perhaps he’d assumed that about her, too. Perhaps they’d both been wrong.

The center of her life may be this planet, but that doesn’t mean it’s all she is. Leela keeps trying to remind her of that; perhaps she needed a similar reminder here.

The collection of souvenirs from people he cares about, the way it’s the brightest spot in his rooms — there’s always another layer, she thinks.

Romana perches on the edge of the single sofa in the room. “I am. Interested.” Her voice is quiet, embarrassingly sincere. Narvin stares at her for a long time before sighing and waving her reluctantly towards a cabinet she hadn’t paid much attention to when she walked into the room.

“Nothing special, or scandalous, I’m afraid. But the CIA has a lot of old weapons parts that would get thrown out. I hand off a lot of them for training exercises, or keep them on hand just in case, for data collection. But — ”

Narvin opens the cabinet. Romana inhales.

She didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t _this_. A dim light washes the whole cabinet in a gentle glow, and these pieces might have been old but they’ve definitely been polished since. She recognizes places — the CIA Towers, the High Council building — and mythical creatures from the dawn of Gallifrey’s history — she spots a Great Vampire struck with a bowship and shudders — and all of them are made out of tiny pieces of old scrap, clockwork gears and twisting wires and old casings and they’re _beautiful_.

Romana must have spent too long just gaping at the unexpected display in front of her — she knew Narvin was a Patrex, but she didn’t realize he was actually _artistic_ — because Narvin clears his throat and tries to close the cabinet door. 

She holds up a hand, stopping him. “ _Narvin_.”

“...yes?”

She bites her lip. “I didn’t know you could do this.”

“Oh. Well.”

Her eyes flick to his. “They’re _wonderful_ ,” she says, softly.

“Oh,” he repeats, and it’s somewhat satisfying to see Narvin be the one to turn red this time, even if it is for a much better reason.

“Can I — ” Romana makes a reaching gesture, and Narvin nods. When she scoops out a miniature TARDIS bay with a slow smile, she watches the same smile spread to Narvin’s eyes.

* * *

Working with Romana isn’t any different. Just because he knows what she wears to sleep or what offworld sweets she likes or what she reads when she has a moment to herself or how she smiles when there’s no one around she has to intimidate doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change how she sends him brief messages that say very little, because she trusts that he’ll fill in the blanks. It doesn’t change how she storms into his office after a High Council meeting, fuming about Livia’s latest budget.

It doesn’t change how Narvin steps into her office without knocking, or how their conversations about work have become a sort of shorthand now that she knows how the CIA works. It doesn’t change how he trusts that she’s trying to do the right thing, or how he isn’t afraid to argue with her when she’s wrong. 

Romana is still too stubborn and too idealistic, and she still _cares_ enough to burn her whole, and Narvin has always found it difficult to look away from her when she’s burning her brightest. That will probably never change. 

He knows what her voice sounds like when she’s frustrated at someone else and taking it out on him, or when she’s just exhausted, or when she’s truly angry. He knows how many dignitaries have bowed under the fire in her eyes. 

But he’s still learning how she smiles when she compliments an agent on a job well done, how she watches the people who work under her and decides which ones she wants to assign to missions. Narvin knows how he studies people. He hasn’t quite figured out how she does, but perhaps it’s because she didn’t used to care so much about what the people who worked for her thought of her. She used to be the young, upstart president, but she’s served Gallifrey for years now. She’s different.

They’re both different.

Narvin’s in Romana’s office when they get word of a skirmish between Nekkistani and Gallifreyan diplomatic ships. Casualties. Threats already flying. 

He knows the look in Romana’s eyes, when she’s trying to stop a war. It took him a long time to see the guilt in it, but of course, she knows what it’s like to drive her world to a breaking point.

They’re talking before either of them have fully read the message. What agents they have in the area. The history of this particular Nekkistani delegation. The history of the Time Lords who were killed. The history of the Time Lords who survived. Who will meet with the President, what their recommendations will be. 

Narvin learned long ago in the CIA: trust no one.

He broke that rule for the first time for a young, upstart president who cared about their world enough to burn her whole. 

Romana was the first person who taught him that he could care about other people with a fierceness that terrified him.

(Leela was the first person who taught him that other people could care back.)

* * *

Against all Romana’s better judgement, it becomes a habit.

 _It_ meaning the evenings, the increasingly regular rotation between each of their rooms, although they still end up at Leela’s most of the time. She and Leela keep trying to bribe Narvin into trying increasingly outlandish food that they’ve either picked up or had imported from other worlds. (Romana also hasn’t given up on the wine.) Sometimes, Leela tosses a deck of cards at Narvin with a smile, and they play absurd variations on Gallifreyan card games where Romana is fairly certain they’re making up half the rules as they go. Narvin keeps trying to drag her into it, Romana keeps insisting she prefers the power of the sidelines, where she can help whomever she chooses cheat. Other times, Romana and Narvin read reports or talk politics while Leela sprawls across them on the sofa and alternates between pretending to sleep and trying to steal their datapads. 

They don’t spend every evening like that, not even most of them. Most nights Leela stays with one or the other of them, the same as it was before Romana and Narvin started stumbling into each others’ lives. And even when the three of them do spend time together, one of them always leaves when it gets late. She falls asleep next to Leela or alone — that too is perfectly normal. 

Although it is always a bit strange, to think of Leela’s company as _normal_. Months and months have passed since Leela first kissed her in the morning, but some nights, Romana still believes wholeheartedly that Leela’s company is a blessing she hasn’t earned.

And if she hasn’t earned Leela’s company, she certainly hasn’t earned Narvin’s. He is her deputy, her right hand. The person she turns to when her world is at risk of falling apart. They have grown to work well together — if she lets him too close, will that all come crumbling down?

She decides: for now, it works. Leela is there, a buffer between them, and she’s certainly glad that they’ve managed to stop dancing awkwardly around each other, in work and outside of it. Narvin is her friend, and that isn’t a bad thing. It isn’t.

Romana still leaves Gallifrey alone some nights. She still likes having the chance to disappear, to wander, to stare without anyone staring back. 

It’s after one of these excursions that she returns, dust in her wind-tossed hair and the creases of her trousers and tunic. There’s a message blinking from Narvin on the communicator in her rooms, asking if she wants to possibly join a round of cards before Leela turns in for the night. 

Romana runs her fingers through her hair and heads over to his rooms — they’ve all traded access codes, so she lets herself in. Narvin and Leela are in a familiar position — him trying to work, her sitting on his lap, looking bored and more than a little sleepy.

“Romana!” Leela brightens. “Are you here to distract Narvin?”

She snorts. “Not likely. And I’m not really here, unfortunately. I very much need a shower, but I _will_ be back soon, so don’t beat Narvin at cards without me.”

Leela grins. Narvin glances up properly, and his brow furrows — upon reflection, she probably does look a bit strange, wearing something that’s neither work robes or sleep clothes, something in a non-Gallifreyan style. Or perhaps he’s confused because she didn’t _really_ need to pop over to tell them herself; she could have easily just sent a message back.

But the point of leaving Gallifrey for a bit is to remind herself why she wants to stay. Of course she wanted to see them as soon as she returned.

Scrubbing the dust from her hair and skin takes much longer than expected. She didn’t _mean_ to time her marketplace visit so badly — this one was definitely more of an adventure than a relaxing trip. Romana discards the clothes for washing and wraps herself in her night clothes, her freshly dried hair cascading around her shoulders.

This time, when she slips into Narvin’s rooms, the tableau looks a bit different. Narvin is still on a corner of the sofa, but his datapad has been set aside. Leela’s wrapped around him, her head tucked on his shoulder, fast asleep.

Romana stops in the entryway as something seizes in her chest. 

Once, this would have hurt. Seeing Leela and Narvin curled together, seeing the soft awe in his eyes as his hand combs through her hair. Seeing how they fit together so easily.

But the emotion that overwhelms her isn’t anything like hurt. It’s affection, but _more_ , vast and all-consuming, warming her from head to toe. The two people she cares about most in the universe are happy and content in front of her, and it’s — it’s good.

Narvin lifts his head and starts to open his mouth, but she presses a finger to her lips. She’s blinking a little too hard, as she makes an apologetic gesture towards the door. 

Narvin nods. _Good night_ , he mouths. 

Romana’s eyes drift to Leela, snoring peacefully against him, and she can’t quite hide a smile.

 _Good night_ , she echoes. As she turns to the door, she only just catches the fondness in his eyes as he smiles back.

* * *

Narvin doesn’t move for a long time, reluctant to dislodge Leela as she snores happily against him. The weight of her body is warm, the tickle of her hair gentle and familiar. He doubts they’ll ever be a day when his hearts don’t race at least a little at those sensations. He never expected to have a relationship like the one he has with her, his feelings warm and bright and somehow, reciprocated.

He never expected to have a relationship like the one he has with Romana, either, although that one is harder to explain or categorize. And it’s too late at night for him to be trying to. 

He picks up his datapad carefully and tries to continue working without startling Leela awake, but the night drags on until he’s yawning, too. Eventually, he reaches over to shake Leela’s shoulder. She wouldn’t thank him for trying to carry her into the bedroom — it’s more likely that he would end up the injured party in that scenario.

She makes a drowsy, mumbling noise and lifts her head. “Narvin?”

“Sorry.” Narvin presses his lips to her forehead, murmuring against it. “But we’ll both be more comfortable sleeping on a bed.”

She stretches her arms, yawning widely. “I did not mean to fall asleep. Did Romana — ” 

“She stopped by, but she didn’t want to wake you.”

“You could have woken me,” she tries, the words half-swallowed in another yawn.

“Because you’re so awake now.” Narvin wriggles out from underneath her and stands, pulling her alongside him. “Come on.”

Leela follows him to the bedroom, still muttering vague, sleepy complaints. But when she crashes onto her side of the bed, face smushed against the pillow, still in her regular clothes, she’s back to snoring almost immediately.

Narvin smiles and yanks at the blankets, folding them over her. Another part of his routine that, many years ago, he would never have imagined. He is a spy, well-trained in paranoia and guarding his own back. The idea of letting someone else curl up in bed beside him, when he’s asleep and vulnerable, was once out of the question. He never dreamed there would be anyone he would trust that much. He had convinced himself he would never let himself trust that much.

Narvin pulls his sleep clothes on, slides in beside Leela, and lets the rhythm of her snores lull him to sleep. 

When he wakes, it’s to the sound of movement in his kitchen. He’s alert instantly and reaches for a staser out of habit before remembering that he doesn’t keep one nearby anymore. Cursing this lack of foresight, Narvin drops quietly out of bed and pads across the room to open his bedroom door, the tiniest crack.

Possibly he isn’t as alert as he thought, or he would have remembered that there is one other person who has the access codes to his rooms. 

Narvin cracks the door open further and stares as Romana pours hot water into two mugs. Her back is turned to his, but when she glances over her shoulder, she doesn’t seem surprised to see him. With a quick look at Leela’s sleeping form back in the bedroom, Narvin steps out, shutting the door behind him. 

“I’d hoped I’d timed it right,” Romana whispers and pushes one of the mugs of hot water across the counter to him. “Based on when you usually come into the office, it _seemed_ like you would be up around now.”

He’s still staring, and she blinks, uncertain. “Sorry, do you not prefer tea? I probably should have asked.”

Narvin finds his voice. “Tea’s perfectly fine. There are — there are tea leaves in the cabinet next to the sink.” 

Romana pulls them out, and they each steep their tea.

“Is there news?” Narvin asks. “Is that why you’re here?”

She leans on the counter, hands laced. “No, there isn’t news. I thought — ” She hesitates. “I kept you up waiting last night, so. I don’t know.”

It’s unusual to see her this uncertain, and maybe that’s why it takes a long moment for her words to sink in. For Narvin to realize what she’s saying — there isn’t really a reason for her to show up in his quarters and have tea ready by the time he woke. No particular excuse, or work-related pretense.

Narvin doesn’t quite feel capable of speech. He is, in fact, more touched than he’s been in a long time. Especially given that Romana isn’t prone to small gestures — she is dynamic, opinionated, relentless. She dreams, aspires. That is why he’s so terrified to let her get too close — once, it was easy to stray too close to her fire, let her scald him. Once, he let himself orbit around her, enamored to a frankly dangerous degree. 

He had made a significant effort to keep that box in the back of his mind, in the years since their return to Gallifrey. What he feels for Romana is professional admiration and polite friendship. He’s moved past anything else. 

But at this early hour, whispering in the dim light, seeing the softness of her smile, feeling the warmth of the hot mug against his palm, he most definitely feels something else. It isn’t fire, it isn’t all-consuming and relentless. He feels warm, not scalded.

He feels like he could get used to seeing her smile in his kitchen in the morning, like he’s gotten used to her voice and her laughter in the evenings, like he’s gotten used to how they fit together in the CIA Tower during the day. There is nothing dynamic and dramatic about it, but there is some kind of paradigm that’s shifting under his feet. Something in their friendship that he’s been ignoring, or trying to.

Romana smiles, and his hearts flutter, and he thinks: _Oh no_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Narvin has hobbies" section of this chapter was inspired by a combination of [A Quiet Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15737805/chapters/36592257) by [gallifreyburning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyburning/pseuds/gallifreyburning) (re: Narvin builds things!), and various discussions I've seen about Narvin being secretly artistic in some way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: references to slightly gruesome (offscreen) death.

Romana holds tight to the nights when she can fall asleep knowing that the universe is a little better than it was the day before. Knowing that there is a point to her work, that there are victories among the drudgery and exhaustion. 

But there are other days, too, days when the dead far outnumber the victories. 

The CIA has five agents on Raklor. They miss their morning check ins. And the next morning’s. And the next week’s.

Romana doesn’t worry much at first. Within the first day, Narvin informs her that he’s taken full supervision of the mission. There are any number of explanations: communications malfunction, hiding from risk of discovery. They won’t step in further unless it seems necessary. No need to compromise their agents, and there wasn’t a distress code sent before they went silent.

Days pass, and traffic logs reveal unaffiliated ships landing on the planet, cargo so perfectly ordinary as to be suspicious. Narvin comes to her with the latest reports on chatter: some sort of trafficking operation is making a big move, but he doesn’t know who they’re working for.

Two weeks later, the CIA has tracked the operation to a headquarters, found the people who have stolen Time Lords and Monans and so many others, people who decided that if they can’t make time travel work themselves, they can rip its secrets from those that can.

(Much later, Romana will learn that there was a bigger game being played. It was never about a ragtag group developing time travel. It was about cracking apart the weaknesses of the Temporal Powers, one of many quiet missions carried out in the universe. It’s only years and years later that she learns of the Daleks’ hand behind this operation, and she curses herself for not seeing it sooner.)

The prisoners aren’t dead when the CIA locates them, but they’re dead before they reach them — most blown to pieces in a hasty collapse of the old buildings, a few left to die screaming in the wreckage before their home world’s agents can pry them free. 

(All of the Time Lords are efficiently dead. No chance of regeneration. Romana has seen too many bodies ripped apart in her life; she respects the painful work of the recovery team.)

News of the disaster will break soon, especially with the citizens of multiple worlds involved and such a dynamic explosion. There will be investigations, accusations, anger and grief spiraling out of control. 

The President has been updated on this particular situation all along, supervising and signing off of some of Romana and Narvin’s most pivotal calls. But it’s the CIA’s duty to inform the close relatives and House elders of the deceased first. Narvin finds Romana, after the dust has settled, and offers to make the calls himself.

“No.” Romana stands in front of her desk, arms folded, and doesn’t look at him. “This is my job,” she says, with all the weight of every time she had to do a similar duty as President. It will never get easier.

Narvin hesitates. “Agent Ace has been asking — well, more like demanding — a meeting.”

“About what?”

“The other agents know to wait for news, but she — well. Protocol is always more of a suggestion with her.”

Romana’s stomach sinks.

“Agent Elissa,” Narvin says quietly. “They went through their initial training together. They were friends.”

She closes her eyes. “Do you want to tell her?”

“ _Want_ may be a strong word. But I _am_ going to tell her. I only wanted to make sure we followed the proper channels first.”

Romana nods, but something twists in her stomach. It’s easy enough to determine what immediate relations an agent has; it’s much harder to know who they actually enjoy spending time with. Friends, partners, family that is genuinely liked rather than just tolerated. Not that members of the CIA are especially well known for having any of those — the Agency attracts those who are wary to trust.

But Ace isn’t a typical CIA agent. She has a natural inclination to trust. She draws people in, gets to know them, makes them smile.

“I’ll let you know when I’m done,” Romana says. Narvin nods and turns towards the door before she calls, “And after you meet with Ace, tell Leela.” _Tell Leela that Ace might need a friend today_ , she doesn’t say, because Narvin will understand.

Something wells up in her throat. She looks away.

Narvin hasn’t moved. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m in charge. It’s always somewhat my fault.”

“I was the one overseeing the mission.” His voice is hoarse, insistent. “They were my agents.”

“ _Our_ agents.”

There are five Time Lords who died today, and they were so young. Romana knows how to absorb losses without feeling every one of them. It’s a learned skill, turning a blind eye to suffering so you can see the larger picture. But some days, she is too tired and too old, and she doesn’t _want_ to.

She thinks of Ace, grieving a friend who isn’t coming home, and takes a step forward, impulsive, to squeeze Narvin’s hand in hers. 

He exhales and squeezes back. She means to let go quick, but neither of them manage it for a long moment.

* * *

Leela says she’s busy for the night. Narvin knows she’s spending time with Ace after the news of the Raklor massacre (that’s what the vidcasts are calling it), but in an effort to respect her privacy, he doesn’t mention it.

It isn’t logic that sends him to Romana’s door. It's habit, perhaps, months of late nights spent wandering into each other's rooms. Or it’s the restlessness lingering inside of him after today — he isn’t going to be productive this evening, no matter how late he stays up in his office or his quarters. It isn’t going to be easy to fall asleep. 

He doesn’t want to be alone.

The last thought strikes him, not because it’s unusual (it’s been a long time since it was unusual), but because he’s vastly more used to turning to Leela when that particular itch crawls under his skin. On the days when he needs company without explanation, she’s content to curl up next to him and not ask questions, or not bring up whatever is bothering him if she knows. And when she, in turn, is upset, he can do the same and wait to see if she wants to talk. Narvin understands this dynamic; it’s become predictable and comfortable.

His relationship with Romana lacks that same stability. She is more volatile, prone to holding her emotions so tight she can pretend not to have them, or lashing out with them, no matter who is standing in front of her. Narvin doesn’t know what to expect tonight.

But all day, he hasn’t been able to shake the memory of her tight grip on his hand. It was easy, to stand together and not say anything at all. To pretend to ignore the wetness in her eyes, and in his. 

Narvin knows the codes to her rooms, but he knocks this time. The codes feel conditional — he can enter, as long as there’s a good enough reason. If Leela is here, or if there’s an emergency at work, or —

Narvin doesn’t know if wanting to see her counts as good enough.

Romana’s still dressed in her CIA robes when she opens the door, or she threw them hastily back on when she heard him knocking. 

“What’s happened?” she says, and Narvin looks properly at the shadows under eyes.

“Nothing,” he says. “Nothing new, at least.”

She blinks at him. “Why are you here?”

Narvin exhales. “Leela is — ”

“ — visiting Ace tonight. Well, she didn’t say exactly, but I assume. I’m not sure when she’ll be back.”

She’s given him an easy out. Pretend he was only looking for Leela, pretend he hadn’t gotten her message yet. But he’s known Romana too long, and giving people reasons to walk away is what she does. He knows how she hides away, lashes out. He knows how terrified she is of being alone, but how _alone_ seems less scary if it’s on her own terms. 

“I heard.” Narvin stands in Romana’s doorway until an understanding flickers in her eyes. “May I come in?” he asks quietly, and she stares at him with an expression he doesn’t understand before nodding.

They end up sitting on her sofa in silence, a cup of tea in each of their hands. Narvin inhales its warmth and tries not to notice the exact amount of space between them on the cushion.

She’s the first to speak: “You saw the report, about the team that’s traced the last of the kidnappers to some remote outpost?”

“Yes.”

“We should know more early tomorrow, but if anything happens in the night — ”

“I’ll have my communicator nearby. I always do.” Narvin exhales, long and low. “Romana. Could we talk about something else?”

She turns to face him, her eyes tired but surprised. 

“Like you said,” he adds. “There likely won’t be any news by morning. And after today…” He takes another sip of tea to avoid finishing the sentence. He doesn’t need to name his grief to Romana, the aching responsibility of lives lost under your care, because she knows it so well herself. 

She’s silent for a long moment before leaning back against the cushions. “A few weeks back, I accidentally ended up in the middle of a dust storm outside the Tylan marketplace.”

Narvin swallows his tea. “Accidentally.”

“Well, it wasn’t on purpose.”

“Did you not check the weather conditions before you left your TARDIS?”

“Yes, because the TARDIS knows every moment of time and space and can predict with _exact_ accuracy the weather phenomena of every planet in the universe.” 

“So _did_ you?”

“Who’s telling the story?”

Narvin rolls his eyes, but obligingly shuts up and lets her spin a tale of being suddenly swept up in the chaos of a marketplace shutting down by the storm that came too soon, of hiding out in the house of a couple that runs a fruit stall and leaving a couple of items worth twice their lost wares after. It’s probably exaggerated, but it is, he admits, a distraction.

“Where was Leela?” he asks at some point.

“I’m sorry?”

“Leela. If you were stuck with the fruit sellers during the dust storm, where was she?”

“Back in your rooms, that night.” She smiles wryly. “Leela avoided that particular adventure, I’m afraid.”

Narvin’s brow furrows. “You were at the Tylan marketplace by yourself?”

Romana gives him a puzzled look, as if she can’t quite parce the note of anxiety in his voice. But it’s more than a bit dangerous to have the CIA Coordinator running about the universe on her own, and Romana isn’t known for her combat experience. The concept of a secret excursion is at least somewhat more sane when Leela’s with her.

And, if he’s honest, he was under the impression that Leela was the primary instigator of these little offworld adventures. He’s long since accepted Leela’s restlessness on Gallifrey, just as he’s accepted that she will always come back to the city at the end of the day. 

Why is _Romana_ leaving Gallifrey? 

The question lodges somewhere near his stomach, but he doesn’t dare ask it. He isn’t certain he wants to know the answers.

“I trust Leela’s street skills more than I trust yours,” he says instead.

Romana snorts. “I once traveled a universe in a prototype time ship as one of the leaders of a rebellion. I haven’t gotten _that_ old.”

Narvin takes another sip of tea as she continues with her story and tries not to think: yes, Romana _was_ a renegade once. It’s one of those pieces of information he knows, but doesn’t often think about. Romana and Gallifrey will always be entwined in some way in his mind, even if over the years he’s learned to separate the person, his friend, from the planet she’s also pledged her lives to.

They talk for a while longer about anything except the events of the past day, until the quiet lapses in conversation don’t feel stiff anymore. Eventually, Romana is yawning, and Narvin’s trying not to mirror her. It’s a perfectly reasonable excuse to leave, except when she grabs her datapad — the non-work one — and settles back against the cushions, she doesn’t seem to be expecting him to go anywhere. 

Narvin’s on his third cup of tea, this one hot and fresh, and so he keeps sipping it as Romana reads beside him. It isn’t at all like being by himself on a quiet night — it’s simultaneously reassuring and discomforting to have her there beside him. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches her close her eyes. Narvin nearly says something, nearly gets up to leave, except after the day they’ve both had, he’s reluctant to disturb her by clattering around in the kitchen to put his cup away. He should soon. He will soon. But.

What he doesn’t expect is for Romana’s breathing to even out as she sinks back against the cushion, and for that too-large, too-small space between them to close abruptly as her head tips sideways onto his shoulder. 

Narvin’s hands grip his cup even more tightly. Romana sighs but doesn’t wake, and he swallows. He could have happily gone on not knowing what the softness of her cheek feels like against his shoulder, how her hair falls sideways to tickle his neck. Romana is his friend and his supervisor, sometimes in that order and sometimes not, and how in Rassilon’s name is he supposed to react to her falling asleep on him?

Romana probably hasn’t slept much these past few days. _He_ certainly hasn’t. And so, really, the only logical thing to do is set his cup carefully on the table beside him and close his own eyes, trying to ignore the skitter of his heartsbeat, the way his hand naturally brushes hers.

* * *

Her dreams are foggy and full of too many screams, and when Romana jolts awake, it isn’t to the familiar shadows of her own room. And she isn’t alone.

Narvin makes a snorting noise and jerks awake at her sudden movement, blinking the sleep from his own eyes. There’s a brief echo on her skin — the curve of his shoulder under her head, before she lifted her head. Her breath catches. 

The echoes of the dream linger in her shallow breaths, and she tries to settle them. It’s one thing for Leela to see her like this, shaken in the middle of the night, but it’s different when it’s Narvin.

 _Is_ it different when it’s Narvin?

“It’s alright,” Narvin says, quick. “You fell asleep.”

A large part of her is insisting: _Run._ She doesn’t know if it’s the lingering adrenaline from her dream or something else entirely. And then she’s suddenly aware that her hand is on top of his because he’s threaded his fingers through hers, eyes concerned. 

She’s even more aware of how she doesn’t want to let go.

“Romana.” Narvin hesitates. 

Romana hates being alone at night. She’s hated it for years, but for so long, she never trusted anyone enough to share her space. And for even longer after that, she never believed she deserved that company — she still doesn’t believe it now, not fully, even if she tries to convince herself, day in and day out, that Leela can make her own choices.

But Leela isn’t here tonight, and Narvin is, and she’s tired and startled, and it’s all so _confusing_. 

_Stay_ , part of her whispers, and the word is almost out of her mouth before the other part of her, the insistent one, the _logical_ one, catches up. 

“I — I’m sorry. To have kept you so late.” She removes her hand from his and stands, not looking at him. Narvin follows her, and they put away the dishes in a silence that can’t seem to decide whether it’s comfortable or not.

Narvin starts towards the door, his jaw set, and her stomach twinges. She never can quite manage that balancing act between _acceptable distance_ and _pushing her friends away_ , can she?

“Narvin.”

He looks back.

Romana takes a deep breath. “Thank you. For stopping by tonight.”

“Of course,” he says, as easy as breathing, and her hearts ache. 

She spends the next week trying to forget the confusing mix of emotions of that night, but the harder she tries, the more it intrudes on her thoughts. Narvin is her friend, and she likes spending time with him outside of the office, and that was all it was ever meant to be. She has known him for years and _years_ , she never thought — she never imagined —

Her feelings for Leela were quick and dramatic, even if she did proceed to spend the next several years trying to avoid them. Whatever she’s feeling now, it isn’t dramatic at all.

Romana has grown used to Narvin’s presence in her kitchen and her sitting room, grown used to stepping into his space in return. She’s grown used to his smiles and smirks, to his quiet laughter. She’s grown used to the shape of him in her life, but _used to_ is such an inadequate term for the fizzing warmth she felt when he held her hand, their shoulders pressed together. It felt like she _belonged_ there by his side, and Romana isn’t used to feeling that kind of overwhelming conviction with anyone but Leela.

Or perhaps she hasn’t been paying enough attention. 

That week, they’re so busy at the CIA that it’s easy enough to avoid any _extracurricular_ interactions with Narvin. She doesn’t want to avoid him forever, certainly, but for now it’s easier to sort through her own feelings when she only has to see him for work. 

But by week’s end, any loose threads from the Raklor disaster are wrapping up. There’s only so much longer she can pass this avoidance off as a busy work schedule before it becomes obvious, and someone — most likely Leela — starts asking questions.

Questions Romana doesn’t have answers to. 

She could make the call, could tell Narvin that whatever is going on between them shouldn’t continue. It wouldn’t be a comfortable conversation, certainly, and it would make their relationships with Leela complicated once more, but she _could_ do it. 

She spends the week trying not to think about how easy it felt to fall asleep next to Narvin on the sofa. She spends the week rehearsing a hundred terrible conversations. 

At the week’s end, she sits in Leela’s bed, knees tucked to her chest. 

“May I turn off the light?” Leela asks. “Or would you prefer it stay on?”

Romana hesitates. “Off.”

She knows she’s made a decision when the room goes dark. There are some conversations that are easier to have when Leela can’t see her face.

Leela rolls over, expecting Romana to have stretched out on the bed, but she collides with Romana’s leg instead. She props herself up, shoulder pressed to Romana’s.

“Is everything alright?”

Romana sighs. “Not exactly.”

Leela takes her hand under the covers. Romana swallows, thinking of another hand in hers twice in one day, how easy it was to crave that same kind of closeness with Narvin that Leela is giving her now. 

“I don’t know what to do,” she admits, voice nearly a whisper. 

“About?”

“You can’t laugh.”

“Romana!”

“ _Promise_ me.”

“I _promise_. I would not laugh about something that is bothering you.”

“It isn’t to do with work, or with Gallifrey — well, it is, but you aren’t going to see it that way, and — ”

“You are stalling.”

Romana bites her lip. “It’s — well. It’s Narvin.”

“Narvin?” She can practically hear Leela thinking, running over their recent interactions in her head. “Ah, so work is not the only reason you have not both stopped by this week.”

“Yes.”

She squeezes Romana’s hand. “You two are always arguing about something. I am sure you can work past this, too.”

Romana closes her eyes. “Not that kind of problem.”

“Then — ” Leela goes quiet, and Romana suddenly wants to cut this conversation off before it begins. There’s really no need to talk about any of this with Leela, or with Narvin for that matter. They’re still working together just fine, and they’re perfectly capable of ignoring anything else —

“ _Romana_.”

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“I am not laughing!”

“Close enough.”

“I am pleased, that is different! And surprised — I did not think that you felt the same as he does.” She pauses. “Unless that is the problem.”

“What do you mean, _the same as he does_? Has he talked to you about….” She doesn’t finish, unable, or unwilling, to put words to the particular kind of closeness that has grown in her and Narvin’s relationship.

“No.” Leela snorts. “But he is increasingly obvious, and _you_ are oblivious.”

“Leela!”

“You _are_!”

“You’re one to talk. _You_ didn’t realize that I — ”

Leela elbows her. “We are not talking about _me_. And _you_ did not realize when Narvin was trying to be your friend all those years ago, why would you notice anything else?” 

She nudges Romana’s shoulder, as if to make it clear she’s teasing, but Romana is temporarily lost for words, looking back over years of friendship and dedicated loyalty and trying to categorize it. Trying to understand.

“He — we — ” She takes a breath, tries again. “I don’t know what’s happening, Leela, but I don’t think I _should_ be letting it happen.”

“Romana.” Leela sounds disapproving now, and she wriggles closer, her arm thrown around Romana’s shoulders. “There is nothing wrong with being attracted to your friend. There is nothing wrong with wanting to share your life with your friend.”

Romana blushes at hearing Leela _say it out loud_ , thankful that Leela can’t see her face. “It’s _different_ , when it’s you. I don’t see you every day in my _office_.”

Leela groans and shifts to rest her head on Romana’s shoulder. “You told me that it mattered that both of you are fighting for Gallifrey. Fighting _together_. There is so much you both care about, including each other. I may not have expected to have this conversation, but it makes _sense_ that you and Narvin would want to be together.”

“But that’s just it. How can I know what he _actually_ wants? How can I know that he isn’t just doing any of — of _this_ because he has to? He has done much more in my name, much more dangerous things than — ” She clears her throat, her cheeks still burning. “I can’t _ask_ him for anything too personal, Leela. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“Narvin would not be spending time in your rooms, or mine, if he did not want to. He is not particularly _shy_ about voicing his opinions when he does not like something.”

“But — ”

“No _but_. If you trust Narvin, then trust his judgement. Trust his choices.”

“What choice is it, really, when he has to work with me every day?”

“You are being ridiculous. You are not _pressuring_ Narvin into anything. I do not know what exactly has happened between you, but there is no need to run from what you feel.” 

Romana swallows. “I don’t know _what_ I feel.”

There’s something painfully embarrassing about having this conversation, blushing and stumbling over her words. Narvin is her deputy and her friend. She trusts him to have her back in the CIA Tower, she likes staying up late talking with him, she likes holding his hand, and how is she supposed to fit all of those pieces into a fully functional relationship? 

“You have time,” Leela says, quiet. “You have time to learn what you want your friendship to be. But do not waste that time because you are afraid. Sometimes you have less time than you think.”

Romana isn’t sure that such an ominous tone is appropriate for this conversation, and yet Leela has a point. She thinks of communications blackouts and separations, explosions and bloodstains.

“Also,” Leela adds. “If you want to kiss him, you _will_ need to tell him. He is very bad at making the first move.”

“ _Leela!_ ”

“What?” Now her smirk is audible. “You are also very bad at making the first move. I was trying to be helpful.”

“That’s not — I never said that — ” Romana hides her face against her knees. “I _just_ said, I don’t know what I want.”

“I am helping you review your options.” 

“You are _teasing_ me.”

“That, too.”

Romana elbows her, and Leela laughs and kisses her cheek. 

“There is not much more I can help with,” she says. “What happens now is your choice, yours and Narvin’s.” 

“What we choose does affect you.”

Leela exhales. “And I do not want to pressure _you_. Whatever you and Narvin decide, that does not change my feelings for either of you.”

A rush of affection races through Romana, head to toe, and she pulls Leela close. It’s clumsy, kissing her in the dim light, but Leela’s smiling against her mouth and that is entirely worth it. 

When Romana finally pulls back and slides under the covers properly, Leela snuggles against her, and they whisper _good night_ in the darkness.

* * *

It’s been a couple weeks since Narvin invited himself into Romana’s rooms after the Raklor massacre, and at this point, it’s clear he crossed a line. He isn’t positive exactly which incident was that final step over — if it was letting her sleep on his shoulder for so long, or noticing how jumpy she was after waking, or taking her hand in an attempt at comfort (it’s what she did to him only that afternoon, surely that can’t be it). But maybe it was all of these events together. Maybe she finally noticed what he’s been trying to hide.

Romana has been perfectly cordial to him at work, but it’s also perfectly clear that she’d rather not spend time alone with him that doesn’t have a clear professional purpose behind it.

Wasn’t this where they were always going to end up, if they pushed their friendship too far? Romana has disrupted Narvin’s life, his priorities, his professional and personal relationships, from the very beginning, and that disruption has always left him unsteady. What he feels for her, when he lets himself, has historically been rather overwhelming. 

He promised he wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ , let himself get overwhelmed again. It can’t end well. 

But his relationship with her lately _hadn't_ felt overwhelming. It’s felt comfortable in a way it never did when she was President, or even in her early days of the CIA. It felt easy to spend time with her, laugh with her, bicker with her, invite her into the parts of his life he guarded mostly closely, reach out for comfort at the end of a hard day. 

Maybe that wasn’t the problem. Maybe it really is all these perfectly inconvenient, nervous, elated _feelings_ that he thought he had stamped out. Maybe it _would_ have been easy, maybe Romana would have accepted that time and that invitation and that comfort, if there was nothing other than friendship behind them. 

Romana stops by his office at the end of a day, at the end of another week. The visit isn’t expected, but the guarded look in her eyes unfortunately is. 

“What are you doing tonight?” she asks, drumming her fingers against his doorframe. 

“Tonight? Getting a head start on the briefing packages for the scouts we want to send to the Miloran Spiral. Why?”

She stares at him, as if she’s doing a rather complicated temporal engineering equation in her head, or making a difficult decision. “So nothing urgent then.”

Narvin braces for the weight of the additional workload she’s about to drop. “Not technically, no.” 

Romana looks at her feet. Twists her hands. “Have you ever been to the Tylan marketplace?”

“What?”

“The Tylan marketplace. Surprise dust storm optional, of course.”

Narvin opens his mouth, shuts it. “Romana, I’m not sure where this is going. If there’s a problem I should know about — ”

“There isn’t.” She looks up. “Not like that. But, well. You’ve liked some of the food we’ve brought back, and I thought you might like to go.”

A weight lifts off Narvin’s shoulders. This isn’t an additional workload, it’s a peace offering. An invitation to travel with her and Leela offworld for the evening. Romana presumably expects him to decline, but regardless she’s made her point that she hasn’t given up entirely on the friendship they’ve been building. 

“No, I’ll be fine here.” He waves a hand. “I’m sure you both will have enough fun without me tagging along, although I wouldn’t say no to one of those Kildar creams, if you happen to bring some back.”

“Ah.” Romana chews her lower lip. “Well. Leela isn’t coming.”

 _That_ pulls him up short. Why would Romana be inviting him to go to some alien marketplace with her, if Leela wasn’t there, too? Why would she want to spend time with just the two of them outside of work, if she was uncomfortable with how it turned out the last time?

Unless.

Something warm threatens to spread through Narvin’s chest, but he squashes it ruthlessly. He can’t even begin to guess at Romana’s intentions, there’s no point in inventing reasons that don’t exist.

Narvin has no idea what the look on his face is, but it must be enough to give Romana pause because she asks, “Are you _sure_ you don’t want to come? Kildar creams do taste better fresh from the stall, you know. And really, you’re a bit overdue to get off this planet for something other than a crisis, don’t you think?”

He finds his voice. “I _suppose_ the CIA will survive.”

She rolls her eyes. “We’ll have communicators with us the whole time.”

“Because nothing has _ever_ gone wrong on any peaceful travels before.”

“Aren’t you the optimist.” But there’s a smile in her eyes when she says, “Meet me at my TARDIS in a span.” 

Narvin wishes it was sooner — an entire span to wrap up his time at the office and get ready is an entire span he has to regret agreeing. He still can’t quite fathom what she’s up to, and so as he dresses in something a bit too casual and tightly pressed to be Gallifreyan ( _no CIA robes_ , Romana insisted), it’s too easy to run through all the scenarios where tonight goes poorly.

But whatever agenda Romana has, the evening doesn’t seem calculated. They land just off of a tangle of crowded streets, and as Narvin wrinkles his nose at the clash of sights and sounds and smells, Romana smirks and beckons him forward into the throng. They spend a while doing some hasty dodging and weaving, and Romana insists on dragging him up to every market stall she likes to stop by, sometimes buying and sometimes not. Narvin’s going to need a shower when he gets back from the crush of people around him, and he nearly loses Romana twice in the rushing masses, and the number of ways any potential enemies could sneak up on him in this crowd are astounding, and Romana is smiling that smile he hasn’t seen on her in a couple of weeks, and her eyes are sparkling in a way he doesn’t think he’s _ever_ seen before, and so somehow, none of the other problems matter in the slightest.

It’s really _quite_ infuriating, how she manages to do that.

After the chatter and the rushing crowds (and yes, a pair of Kildar creams), she grabs his elbow and starts practically dragging him. 

“What are you _doing_?”

“You’re not leaving here without seeing the hill.”

 _The hill_ turns out to be the highest point of the marketplace, a collection of intricate wood sculptures crowning its peak. His legs are aching when they reach the top — he really has been neglecting his exercise routine — but Romana is breathing hard, too. And when Narvin turns, the whole of the city is visible around him — not just the packed market streets, but the shining pools and waterfalls that run beside them, the soaring spires of buildings in the distance, the flickering of lights in all sorts of colors low on the horizon. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Romana breathes, and when Narvin glances over her she’s beaming at this strange world. 

Something twists between his ribs, and he stares back at the horizon. “It is.”

There are several other people up on this hill, but they’re far away from him and Romana, who have their backs to one of the taller sculptures. Shouts and laughter echo up to where they are, but it’s peaceful, standing away from it all. 

The silence starts to feel too comfortable. Narvin is starting to be wary of comfortable silences. 

“So this is what you used to do all the time, then? Run through all these alien worlds, see the sights?”

Romana snorts. “There tended to be invasions or coups or pesky individual monsters quietly disappearing people from the streets, but yes, I suppose that’s true.”

“And you _enjoyed_ that?”

“Bits of it, yes.”

This whole evening is strange and out of place already. It’s easier to ask a question that’s been burning quietly in the back of his mind for a while. 

“But hadn’t you enjoyed at least _bits_ of your life on Gallifrey?” He pauses. “Why _did_ you stay away?”

Romana doesn’t answer for a while. She breathes out, steady and slow, and he waits for her to find the words.

“When I was on Gallifrey, I thought I could be perfectly content with a respectable position in our society. Something academic, perhaps. But I didn’t _know_ any different. I didn’t _know_ that there was a — a restlessness that I was carrying. I didn’t even realize.” Her expression softens. “And when I left on my mission — the universe was so much more than everything I had thought it was. And I wanted to be _doing_ something, to actually help make the universe — any universe — better rather than just studying it. It sounds cliché, I suppose, not wanting to only _observe_ , but it was true. I wasn’t that same Academy graduate who thought she knew exactly what her future would look like. I liked the uncertainty of it. I liked — ” Her voice wavers, brief enough that most people wouldn’t notice. “I liked the freedom of it.”

Her words linger, quiet, in the air, and Narvin realizes he’d asked the wrong question.

“Why did you come back?”

Romana looks at him, her eyes sharp and oddly perceptive, and perhaps he didn’t manage to keep the tremble out of his own voice. In theory, it doesn’t matter why she stayed on Gallifrey after E-Space or even why she became President. Her past reasons might not at all be relevant to who she is now — except that’s the problem, isn’t it. She chose to stay all those years ago, and she keeps choosing to, but he had never before seen her like this, the way her eyes lit up in the market, how she smiled when no one in the crowd knew who she was. Romana was a renegade once, he always knew that, but he’d never before had reason to fear it.

“He never forgave me for returning to Gallifrey, you know. The Doctor.” She turns back to the wide violet horizon, and Narvin doesn’t know where she’s going with this, but there’s something in her voice, a quiet intensity, that makes him refrain from interrupting. “And I can’t say I blame him. So many of the renegades out there are corrupt or evil or too independent to allow anyone to accompany them. He never said, not really, but I don’t think he believed there would ever be another Time Lord who could want to share his life. He had lost faith that anyone from Gallifrey could truly share his view of the universe. In theory it didn’t matter — he’s made plenty of friends on other worlds. But it’s different, when you’re coming from the same place.” She swallows. “And I left.”

She’s staring too deliberately into the distance now, and an apologetic tone has crept into her voice that isn’t directed at him at all. It stings a bit, to know that this conversation is the one she never had with the Doctor, that he is getting the leftover scraps of the things they never talked about.

“That didn’t answer my question,” Narvin says, sharp, a reminder that he’s still here. She smiles, small and sad.

“I wasn’t finished.” Romana laces her fingers together. “He thought he had found someone like him at last, enough like him to stay, but I wasn’t as much like him as he’d hoped. I wanted to _act_ , to do good in the universe, but that wasn’t the same thing as running through it. The places we would go, the things we would do — we never stayed. We never faced the consequences of our own actions, never remained long enough to build something out of the chaos.”

She closes her eyes for a heartsbeat. “I may not have learned to always _think through_ the consequences of my actions, but I can’t run away from them here. I stay, day after day, because that’s the best way I know how to do good in the universe. Because I tried running among the stars, but I’m not the kind of person who can run forever.” 

The corner of her mouth twitches into a smile. “I don’t suppose you’d agree that I’m any kind of responsible. Perhaps it’s all relative.”

“You _are_ one of the most reckless people I have ever met,” Narvin agrees. “And you’re a terrible influence. You’ve dragged me off the planet for the entire evening, for Rassilon’s sake.”

She scoffs. “You _wanted_ to come.”

It wouldn’t do much good to deny that. She may have proposed this little excursion, but she couldn’t have _actually_ dragged him here if he hadn’t wanted to go. 

But there’s still one final question needling at him, and well. It’s already been a night for questions. 

“Why _did_ you ask me to come?”

* * *

The question hovers in the air between them. That logical part of Romana is insisting that she ignore it, brush him off, make up some excuse. There’s another voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Leela that’s telling her to be truthful with her feelings.

She’s spent too much of the past week since her conversation with Leela occupied with thoughts about _truth_ and _feelings_. With Leela, everything was technically more straightforward — they had already built habits of spending time together, just the two of them, habits of physical affection. And Leela didn’t shy away from her own feelings — what if she says the wrong thing and spooks Narvin?

Romana nearly laughs at the thought — that’s much like what Leela was afraid of with _her_.

 _Why_ did _you ask me to come here?_

She’s imagined this conversation so many times, rehearsed so many different lines. But she hadn’t expected Narvin to ask about her travels when she was younger. Or at the very least, she hadn’t expected herself to answer honestly. And there was something behind the question, a nervousness that she also hadn’t anticipated. She watches him watch her and realizes — he’s worried, isn’t he? He’s worried that if she tired once of Gallifrey then she could tire again.

That sounds absurd, but possibly there’s too much that she just assumed he knew. Possibly she needs to actually _say it_. 

“I never thought I would find it either, you know,” she starts. “Anyone from Gallifrey who shared how I saw the universe, maybe not completely, but _enough_. A certain kind of responsibility isn’t uncommon on this planet, certainly, but the one Time Lord I knew who cared about making the universe _better_ also never cared about staying behind. I thought, perhaps, if I could change the minds of the next generation, then that would be enough.”

“You don’t seem to be answering my question.”

“I’m getting there.” Romana’s hands are twisting again. “The Doctor and I — we thought we were similar enough to share a life, and maybe we were good enough for a time, but that kind of longevity he was hoping for — another Gallifreyan who shared the same values, who he would always be pointed fundamentally in the same direction with — it wasn’t for us. He never did find what he was looking for with another Time Lord.” She takes a long breath. “But I did.” 

Narvin is quiet. Romana doesn’t look at him. 

“I don’t suppose we will ever stop disagreeing, but not about the important things, not anymore. I _trust_ you, Narvin. I trust that we both care about doing what’s best for Gallifrey, even if we may not always agree on what exactly that is. I trust that we would both give everything we needed to make that better future a reality. Gallifrey is suffocating sometimes, yes, but it’s also where I belong, and where you belong, and where we — ” She inhales. “I know it’s — complicated, and I don’t know exactly what we — but I do need you as much as I need Leela.” Her voice drops, softens. “There are very few things in my life that I have truly wanted to be permanent, but you _are_ one of them.” 

She still can’t look at him. She also can’t believe the rush of words that poured out when she started talking — maybe she _has_ been holding this in for too long.

Maybe Narvin deserved to hear it sooner. 

She can’t look at him because if he looks uncomfortable or confused or — she doesn’t know, but there are so many ways that his expression could ruin this, and she’d like to believe, for a little while longer at least, that she didn’t just make an utter fool of herself.

“The feeling is rather mutual,” he says finally, in a small voice, and Romana doesn’t have time to turn her head before his fingers brush hers. 

No one is paying them any attention, and it’s so easy to take his hand. It’s so easy to hold tight and watch the violet sky bleed to dark blue on the horizon and be absolutely unable to hide her smile.

* * *

They arrive back on Gallifrey late. Narvin’s heart hasn’t stopped racing since their conversation on the hilltop, or perhaps since she first asked him to spend the evening with her, it’s unclear. But he feels lighter than he has in weeks, jittery and relieved and exhilarated and a bit embarrassed, but only because he held her hand for far too long in _public_ where _people could possibly see_ , but he wasn’t exactly thinking coherently at the time.

He realizes he’s barely paid attention to where they’re walking, but they’ve found themselves in front of his rooms.

“I believe Leela’s waiting for you.” Romana leans against the door, all wry smiles. “Although I’m afraid she might be asleep already. My apologies for — what was it? Dragging you off the planet for the entire evening?”

“I wanted to come,” he finishes, impulsive, and it’s some relief that as his face heats, Romana blushes, too.

“Well,” she says. “I’m glad.”

She steps away from the door. “Good night, Narvin.” 

But apparently his turn for impulsive comments isn’t over because he blurts out, “You could stay.”

Romana stops. Her eyes flick to his, scrutinizing, and he realizes she’s trying to decide if it’s a genuine offer, or if Narvin is simply being polite.

It isn’t an offer he had intended to make tonight. But her words from the market have lodged into his chest, warm and bright. He doesn’t know how to respond; he has very little experience with building relationships based on genuine trust, genuine affection. And Romana is guarded in her own ways — her openness today was an exception, not the rule. 

_I don’t know exactly what we_ — she had said, and he doesn’t know exactly either. They are still the Coordinator and Deputy Coordinator of the CIA. They still both love the woman currently waiting in his bedroom. Their relationship has never not been complicated, and it isn’t likely to get less so.

But he understands the rest of what she said, too. Narvin offers his hand, and it’s as clear a reciprocation as he knows how to give.

They can start like this — a trip to a marketplace. Holding her hand. 

One day at a time. 

When she takes it, trying and failing not to smile, it is more a relief than anything he’s felt in so long. 

When they step into the bedroom, Leela is already curled against the closer side of the bed, elbow shoved under a pillow. Her eyes are half-fluttered shut, but they open properly when she spots him and Romana hovering in the doorway. She pushes herself upright, yawning.

“Is something wrong?”

He exchanges a look with Romana. A last confirmation.

“We’d both like to sleep here tonight,” he says. “If that’s alright.”

Leela blinks and then laughs, bright and clear. “Do you really have to ask?”

It’s only briefly awkward, settling in, and mostly because the bed isn’t really quite big enough for three. But Romana climbs in first on the far side, leaving Narvin to settle in on the closer one, across from the door. He wriggles onto the mattress, toes hanging over the edge, tugging on the blankets to stretch them to the edge of the bed. It isn’t long before there’s a sharp tug back; no doubt Romana is trying to claim more than her fair share of the covers.

Leela elbows him in the back. Judging by the muffled noise of protest, she’s done something similar to Romana.

“Stop tugging on the blankets. None of us will get to sleep that way.”

“Romana — ”

“Narvin — ”

They stop abruptly, laugh at the same time. And Leela, of course, rescues them both by gently tugging at Narvin’s shoulder so he rolls to face her. 

“Come here.” She kisses his forehead and pulls him close so his head is tucked next to hers, his arm wrapped over her waist, their legs tangled together. 

“Both of you,” Leela murmurs, and there’s a shuffle as Romana slides closer on the bed so she’s curled against Leela’s other side. Her arm naturally brushes Narvin’s as she hugs Leela’s stomach, and he stretches out a thumb to trace the seam of her nightshirt, brushing against her skin. He can hear her soft intake of breath and when he opens his eyes, hers shine out in the darkness. 

Romana rests her hand deliberately on his elbow, and the weight of it grounds him in place. Suddenly, nothing is more important than this moment, the two people he cares about most in all the universe there beside him. Something is expanding in his chest — something deep and warm and wonderful. Something more than a little terrifying. 

As his eyes drift close, he hears Romana sigh and press against Leela, hears a soft kiss to a cheek, although he isn’t sure whose. His own hand falls naturally against Romana’s waist, and it’s as if he cracked open a door — the three of them are a tangle of shifting limbs, nudging and twisting and cuddling closer until it’s difficult to tell where one of them ends and the other begins.

The sensation in Narvin’s chest grows, a rush of lightness all the way from head to toe, and he is certain, perhaps more than he’s ever been certain of anything in his lives, that right here — together — is where the three of them belong.


End file.
